Condemnation
by Angels-Protegee
Summary: In a world of only darkness, there are no heroes. Heaven is just a lie. And salvation is as far away and untouchable as the sun.
1. Chapter 1

**Some of you aren't going to like this. At all. I've been working on it for maybe a month now, and I'm just going to start posting bit by bit. I'll repeat my warning from "Black Roses" and say that if for ANY reason, you have a problem seeing Erik as a bad guy, then this isn't the story for you. For those of you willing to stick around, remember to critique, not criticize! This is in first person, alternating between Erik and Christine, and I'll mark the switches so it's easier to follow. Most of this is Leroux-based, but Webber snuck in there a few times.  
**

**And I give a big hug and thank you to xxInspireMexx for being my uber-incredible beta and knocking some sense into me when she caught me slacking! Love ya, homie!  
**

_Erik_

Agony.

That's what it was to watch her as I did, to swallow her with my eyes and feel that savage fire burn me from the inside out. The heat in my blood and the way my flesh seemed to scream and cry with longing was a torture far worse than any I had inflicted upon mankind. I had never given a thought for the state of my immortal soul, but what I felt for the purest, most innocent child God ever made was surely enough to send me to Hell.

I thought I'd conquered such base instincts long ago. It was beneath me to feel something as coarse as desire and I was immune to its pull…invulnerable…untouchable. So why, then, did the sight of her, the sound of her voice, and even the mere thought of her, inspire such need and want? I had never known love and never felt these things before with this unholy intensity. When I saw how weak she made me, I cursed the name of Christine Daaé.

I cursed myself as well. What right did I have to crave her like this? She was a budding flower in the spring, one that would be swiftly destroyed once touched by the fire that consumed me. How could I claim to love her and still dream of her as I did? It was so easy to lose myself in fantasies of holding, touching, feeling, taking…

If only I _was _the angel she took me for. Angels feel nothing. But then, I had felt nothing my whole life, and now I wanted _something. _If I was an angel, I wouldn't care either way. But I was only a man, slave to my lust. Every time she called me, I came to her, and I knew there would be a time when I would make her come to me. And when she did, she would be mine.

* * *

_Christine_

A smile spread across my face as I entered my dressing room after rehearsal. The managers had told me Carlotta had fallen ill, and that I was to take her place in the new production of _Faust. _Marguerite! The lead! I couldn't wait to tell the Angel. At last, all our hard work was being rewarded.

"Angel?" I called, closing the door and locking it. "Are you there?"

"I'm always here, child," the reply came. The sound of that voice in my ears made my heart leap with joy and I felt my smile widen. "You seem to be rather ecstatic today, Christine. What has delighted you so?"

"I'm to be Marguerite!" I burst out proudly. "Messrs. Richard and Moncharmin told me today that I'm to take Carlotta's place while she's away!"

There was a benevolent chuckle. "See, dear one? I told you this would happen."

"You knew?"

"Of course I did. I'm always watching you, Christine, and there's nothing you do that I don't know about."

I supposed I should have known that. If anyone could have foreseen this, it would have been my Angel of Music.

"This means we will have to work harder," he told me. "You must be ready to dazzle them all."

"This may not be permanent," I added. "I'm sure once Carlotta is well, she'll be the prima donna again."

"Which is why we must practice," the Angel said. "We want them to love you, Christine. Once they hear you sing, not another word will be spoken about Carlotta."

I nodded. "So we can still continue our lessons every morning?"

"Indeed. Go home, child. I want you well rested for tomorrow, and I won't excuse tardiness. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Angel." I hesitated, then asked, "Are you pleased with me? I've worked so hard for you, you know…"

"Yes, you have. And yes, I'm very pleased. You've done well, Christine, but there's more to do. Hurry home and rest now."

I knew I was glowing with satisfaction. I hadn't disappointed him. Then I asked, "Will you sing before I go?"

"Do you think you've earned the privilege?" He spoke as if to rebuke me, but I heard the teasing note in his voice. There was nothing I loved more than to hear him sing, but he would only do so when I'd fulfilled his expectations for me. It was his way of rewarding me when I made him happy, and it was difficult to say what I cherished more—the reward itself or the knowledge that I'd pleased him.

"Please?" I asked.

Moments later, his voice filled the room with the light of Heaven, surrounding me and wrapping me in angel wings. I could feel it in my soul and almost see eternity before my eyes as I heard the song pour out, "_Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison…" _My lips formed the words but I didn't dare try to sing along. I was unworthy to lift my mortal voice with his, no matter how he'd shaped it to his liking.

He reached the end of the hymn and I sighed petulantly. "If only I could hear you sing always!"

"Someday, perhaps," he told me. "I'll take you where we can sing together until the end of time."

"Do you promise?" I asked.

There was a pause, then he replied, "Put your soul into the music, Christine. When you make your debut, prove to the world who it is you sing for. If you can do that for me, I'll take you away."

I felt as if I might float away in my ecstasy. "I will, Angel," I vowed. "I promise you!"

"I believe you, Christine. Now go; you've dawdled here long enough."

I gathered my things and left the Opera, heading to my tiny, lonely apartment. For the past three months, I hadn't minded the little garret I was forced to occupy so long as I had the time spent with the Angel to cherish, but now with his promise still in my ears I couldn't wait to be free of it.

Looking around at the dingy rooms I'd done my best to make seem like a home, I couldn't hold back, and Marguerite's plea rang from my throat of its own accord. "Holy Angel, in Heaven blessed, my spirit longs with thee to rest!"

**More after the weekend!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the delay, but thank you for coming back for more!**

_Erik_

I must have lost my mind to make such a bargain. How could we ever be together? It wouldn't be an angel carrying her off to Heaven, but the Devil stealing her away to Hell. The poor child might have been destined to sing Marguerite, but she was an unsuspecting Faust, striking deals with Mephistopheles and not even aware of it.

Yet it _was _heaven to spend those hours with her in her dressing room as she strove more than ever to rise above mere excellence and break forth into the supernatural with her voice. It sent shivers down my spine to hear how she seemed more than alive, as if she'd torn down the barriers between life and the beyond and held divinity in the palm of her hand. Oh yes, she would go farther than my wildest dreams when her time came…she wouldn't fail me.

But surely I had failed her somehow. When she sang, she sang for an angel, and I was just a man who'd taken her in. I felt like a predator, tempting her closer and closer and waiting for my chance to ambush her.

No, wait, she sang for the Angel of Music, and I _was _her Angel of Music! The ecstasy I saw in her was meant for me and me alone! She must love me to offer me this window into her soul. Somewhere inside her, she had to know how much she cared…cared for me. This was no trap I was laying. I was only giving her what she'd asked of me, to take her away so we could be together.

The weeks until the opening night flew by and she grew stronger than ever in the music. She did her best to make me proud of her and to uphold her end of the bargain, while I still cherished doubts that I could keep my promise. I loved her so much I was out of my mind with it, but would she love me once my deception had been revealed? Part of me hoped she would, and I believed with all my heart that such a thing was possible. But…I couldn't deny that I wanted her more than ever. Could I trust myself to be alone with her?

…Yes, I believed I could. I loved her far too much to cause her harm.

I awaited her debut with at least as much anticipation as she did, and when the day finally arrived, I felt as though my life depended on that moment when the world would finally hear her sing as I'd taught her. She would show me then how much she loved me; she would give me her soul through the voice I'd given her. Her voice _was _my soul—I had given everything I had into training her, and there was a part of me already lingering inside her spirit where she kept the music. When she unleashed the music, she would free me as well. They would adore her…us. We would triumph together.

The theater was full that night, and I gathered from overheard conversations that all were curious about this new diva. Christine Daaé, they asked? The mezzo soprano? How could she sing the lead? Her voice was pleasant, but nothing at all superb. I heard it all with a smile on my face. Let them talk, and then let them listen. My Christine would wipe those smug expressions off their faces and they would grovel at her feet. My Christine would show them all how angels really sing.

_My Christine…_it was such a natural, logical thought. When she sang, she belonged to me. Once she'd sung tonight, she would be mine forever.

And oh, when she sang at last…the world fell away and she was the only thing that existed. From my hiding place in Box Five, I could hear her magnificent voice raise me high into the heavens until I thought I could almost touch the clouds. My beautiful darling, singing to the world and singing for me.

Beneath my joy, however, I felt something else. I knew how Faust was tempted and understood his bargain with Mephistopheles. I heard Marguerite's cry to the angels from her prison cell, deceived and abandoned by one she'd trusted, and had to fight back my own guilt and shame. It was a cruel game I was playing, but I had long ago made my choice to play it to the end.

The curtain fell as the heroine made her ascent to Heaven, and the theater exploded with applause. Gone were the doubts of the audience. Christine Daaé was a marvel, a treasure, surely the greatest new artist in the world, and it was tragic she had been kept from the world for so long.

I thought my pride would carry me out of Box Five and up to the chandelier. She had done it. She'd won them all over. And she had made me very happy indeed. That voice was my own creation and that child my protégée. The way she'd sung proved once and for all how much she loved me, to give me such a gift. No emperor had ever received something finer.

She had done her part, and it was time for me to do mine. I left Box Five and hurried to her dressing room.

* * *

_Christine_

I broke away from the festivities backstage as soon as I could and escaped to my dressing room, locking the door as always. "Have I pleased you, Angel?" I asked. "I sang only for you, and I felt already as if my soul had come away from my body to be with you. It terrified me, but it was so wonderful!"

There was only silence in my ears.

A seed of doubt began to take root, and I called again, "Angel? Are you happy?" Had I somehow failed him?

Then I heard it, the most enchanting, majestic, victorious sound filling the room, my mind, and even my soul. It was the Angel of Music, singing to me as I'd never heard before. His song began so softly I almost couldn't hear it, but then it grew and I recognized "The Wedding-Night Song" from _Romeo et Juliette._

"Destiny binds me to you forever…"

I never knew such rapture as I stood there listening. My eyes closed and I lifted my arms out before me as if to receive some wondrous blessing. And still the Angel sang.

"I have given you my soul…"

His voice manifested all around me, but now it seemed to have a source… I opened my eyes and followed the sound right to my mirror, seeing my own reflection there. I hardly recognized my own face, it was so altered in my transport, changed so drastically into something wild and untamed. I pressed my hands to the glass and waited.

"It is yours forever, beloved!"

The mirror moved and I stepped forward into a dark passage beyond, into the arms of my Angel.

* * *

_Erik_

I nearly stopped singing when I suddenly had her in my arms. She was here at last, as I'd longed and wished for. I took her hands and finished the song, and when her skin met mine she drew back slightly. I already knew why; my hands were cold to the touch and had doubtlessly startled her. She gave a tiny gasp of surprise and made as if to turn back, but the mirror had already moved back into its place and shut her in the passage with me. Ignoring the hammering of my heart, I took her wrist and guided her along the passage and down into the cellars.

Neither of us said a word the entire journey to my home, but she kept her eyes riveted on my masked face. I tried not to meet her stare too often. There was a questioning look there that grew more and more distrustful and wary. I felt like such a villain, but it was too late to take any of it back and I couldn't have brought myself to it if it was in my power to do so.

We arrived at my house and I led her inside to the light, forced to face her at last. The hurt in her eyes was more pronounced than ever, and the distrust had all but eclipsed the need to know. She bit her bottom lip in uncertainty, then moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Against my will, my eyes followed the motions as I waited for her to speak.

At last, she asked, "Who are you?"

So she had accepted that I wasn't the Angel of Music…that surely meant something. As it was, the only reply I could manage was, "I am neither angel, nor genius, nor ghost, Christine. I am Erik."

**The next one should come faster, so don't worry!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here I am again! **

_Christine_

I didn't know what to think or to feel. All I knew was that everything had been a lie. There was no Angel of Music, and I had been lured away from my dressing room by a strange man…a man in a mask…no, it couldn't be…

"You're the Phantom," I accused, "the Phantom of the Opera."

He cringed slightly as if the name hurt him. "Some have chosen to call me that," he agreed, "but I want you to think of me as Erik, not a phantom…or even an angel."

Tears began to fill my eyes in mourning for the dream that was and yet had never been. "You lied to me."

His shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh. "I did."

"Why?"

He hesitated, then said, "You wouldn't understand."

"I want you to tell me why," I insisted.

After another moment's pause, he said, "It was the only way I could be your teacher."

A furious desire to understand the need for such a cruel lie had come over me, and I pressed on, "But why did you want to teach me to begin with?"

"Because…because I love you."

For a minute it felt like the room was spinning, and I leaned back against a wall for support. No, this couldn't be happening, it just couldn't…

He stepped closer to me and insisted, "I love you, Christine, but the love of a man, especially one such as myself, would have been unacceptable to you. I was only giving you what you wanted, an angel to watch over you."

I shook my head in stupefaction. What sort of dream had I fallen into? When would I wake up? I felt his hand on my shoulder and darted away, suddenly wary. What was to happen now? What did he have planned for me?

As if reading my thoughts, he said, "I won't hurt you, dear child. Erik is your friend. He only wants you to stay with him for a few days, so perhaps you can come to see him as a man."

"Stay here?" I repeated wildly. "You mean—I'm trapped here?"

"Of course not," he replied. "You're a guest, Christine, not a prisoner."

I looked around me at the drawing room he'd brought me to. It was filled with old-fashioned furniture and there were flowers everywhere. It was a nice room, I supposed, but it was still a cage. A gilded one, but a cage nonetheless.

"I don't wish for you to be uncomfortable," he said, and I turned back to stare at him. "I want you to think of this as a second home for you. You can do whatever you like, and I'll see to it your every need is met—"

"Take off your mask," I interrupted.

He went still with surprise, then said, "Pardon me?"

"Take off the mask," I repeated. "Meet that need. I want to see the face of the man who would deceive me and carry me away like stolen property."

"I can't do that, Christine," he told me, and for the first time that night I heard a decisive ring in his voice. "You must be content with never seeing my face."

"You mean content with another lie," I argued.

"If you prefer to see it like that, then—"

I lunged forward and moved to take it off myself, but he snatched me by the wrist in a ferocious grip and held me tight. I tried again with my other hand, but he grabbed that one too. I struggled to free myself, but he began to sing.

My body relaxed in spite of my attempts to break loose, which grew increasingly feeble until I gave up entirely. That perfect voice, the one I still connected to an angel, washed over me and invaded my mind, stealing thought and the instinct to fight.

He led me to a chair and made me sit, still continuing to sing, then knelt at my feet, his eyes never leaving my face. I couldn't look away, as unsettled by their strange yellow light as I was mesmerized by that voice. It was so soft and beguiling, and I couldn't resist its power…

My last conscious thought was that his voice would surely be my undoing.

* * *

_Erik_

She fell asleep minutes after I'd begun to sing, and I waited a few minutes more before carrying her to the room I had prepared for her. I laid her gently on the sofa and stroked the air next to her cheek in imitation of a caress. I felt something stir deep within me as I looked at her, the urging of desire that had gone denied and ignored for so long.

It would be so easy…she would never know…she wouldn't even remember…

I turned away and left her alone. I didn't want her against her knowledge or consent. I wanted her when she would accept me.

But as I recalled our conversation, even I had to admit that was a gloomy prospect. Nothing had gone as I'd imagined it. She didn't forgive my lie and she didn't accept the truth, merely acknowledging it and despising it. She had gone a step further and demanded that I take off my mask, and that I could never allow. She would never love me once she'd set eyes on me.

And damn it, I wanted her to love me, and to love her in return. She was my last chance for something ordinary in a world that had shut me out, and my only hope for something extraordinary to avenge what I'd suffered my entire life. It would take time for her to realize it, but I knew part of her loved me already. She had adored the Angel of Music, and I could show her that the Angel was as much a part of me as her voice was a part of her.

It was a small hope, but it was still hope.

* * *

_Christine_

I awoke alone and confused, in unfamiliar surroundings, and trying to remember everything that had happened before I fell asleep. Gradually, it all came back to me—_Faust, _my dressing room, the mirror revealing a dark passage, and the journey into the cellars. The last thing I recalled was Erik, the Phantom, the false Angel.

All my shattered dreams lay at my feet and I saw anew how desperate my situation was. I was trapped underground with the Phantom of the Opera, more of a mystery than anything, but also an unknown man. A man, by his own admission, who was so in love with me he had perpetrated such an outrageous lie.

I pressed my palms over my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? I had let my joy at the idea of my promised angel carry me away and abandoned caution and common sense. I had even asked that he take me away! I was such a fool!

Still cursing myself, I looked around me more carefully. The bedroom I found myself in was carefully furnished, and under other circumstances I might have found it quaint. But I couldn't be easy in my surroundings. I went to the one door that opened from the room and found a bathroom. There was no other outlet.

Anxious and afraid, I returned to the bedroom and examined the furniture: the mahogany bed, the marble-topped dresser, the low sofa, all in an old-fashioned Louis-Philippe style that was meant to be comfortable but left me feeling the opposite. This clearly wasn't Erik's own room. Why then did he have it? Had he planned all along to bring me here?

Before I could reason further, a door I hadn't noticed swung open and the man himself entered. I watched him warily and resentfully as he carried in several packages and opened them; they contained clothing. He wordlessly put the clothes away in the dresser and wound my watch for me, checking it against his own. Only when he was finished did he look at me and say, "You can finish dressing now, Christine. It's nearly time for lunch. I'll come and fetch you when everything is ready." Without another word of explanation and before I could say anything at all, he left the room again.

I was so vexed I could only stand there staring for several minutes. Finally, I grew confident enough in my solitude to go to the dresser and do as I'd been told. He'd seen to every detail, as all the clothes fit me perfectly and were to my exact taste, but such care only made me more nervous. If I only knew what to expect in this bizarre charade, it might ease my mind! On reflection, though, I decided that while it was hard to be ignorant of Erik's intentions, perhaps I would be happiest if I remained so. It was only when I'd learned the truth of the Angel's identity that I'd been filled with so much dread.

And it was with a sense of dread that I awaited his return, albeit one that had been muted somewhat. Erik had behaved so calmly I couldn't help but start to feel that way myself, no matter what doubts lingered. Soon, the door opened and he came to lead me to a formal, if lonely, dining room. There, he served me lunch and watched me as I ate, though he took nothing himself. I did the best I could, and he was a good enough cook that my efforts were rewarded, but I was still so nervous and put off by his staring that my appetite suffered and I ate less than I might have.

He noticed, and commented immediately. "Is something wrong?" he asked. "Do you like the meal?"

"Oh, no, it's not that," I replied meekly. "It's just that I'm…not very hungry."

"If you like, I can fix something else to tempt you…"

"No, that's not necessary." I cast my eyes around the room, at the walls, the table, my plate, and still I felt him staring at me. "Thank you for the offer, though."

He didn't reply, but pushed back his chair and stood. He waited there for an awkward moment, then came around the table and drew out my chair for me. "Would you like to see the rest of my house?" he asked.

I wanted to tell him that what I would really like to see was the nearest way out of his house, but I bit my tongue and merely nodded. He offered me his hand and I took it, then drew back again when I felt how cold his skin was. He kept contained after that, simply walking from room to room and telling me about each. Finally, he said, "Would you care to see my bedroom?"

For a moment there was a warning cry in my head, but his manner was so casual and so detached that I felt no threat. I nodded again and he led me down the hall to a room draped in black, bare except for a beautiful pipe organ, stacks and stacks of music, and a coffin. It attracted my unwilling gaze the instant I saw it and I couldn't look away from it.

"That's where I sleep, when I _do _go to sleep," Erik told me. "It helps prepare me for the final sleep we all must take. One can get used to everything in life, you know, even the afterlife."

I turned my head to stare disbelievingly at him, but he had crossed the room to the organ. I followed hesitantly, glancing at the stacks of music. Written across nearly every page were the notes of _Dies Irae_, repeated over and over again. There was a manuscript on the organ itself. "May I?" I asked.

He nodded.

I lifted the score in my hands and examined it. It was a complex, mysterious piece copied out in red ink. I looked at the title and read _Don Juan Triumphant._ "Did you compose this?"

"I'm still composing it," he told me. "I began that work years and years ago, and it still eludes me at times. Sometimes I leave it untouched for years more before inspiration strikes, and I work at it for days on end."

I nodded slowly. "Maybe you could—perhaps play some of it for me?" I suggested.

He shook his head and took the score back, careful not to touch me again. "I cannot," he said. "It's unfinished, but it's still dangerous music, Christine. Even I lose myself to its lure as I work. If I were to play it for you, it would consume you."

There was such finality in his tone and conviction in his words that it sent chills down my spine. I understood from my experience with the Angel that music could indeed carry danger in its fabric, but I had an ominous fear of this new music. Consumed? Even more so than when he sang?

He sat down to the instrument and said, "I'll play you something else if you like." He launched off into what I felt must be an improvised piece, his hands a blur along the keyboard as he struck chord after chord. The thunder of the organ rose and reached a crescendo, sounding like a chorus of angels on judgment day, and I listened in awe. Yes, surely this was my Angel of Music, for him to have such a presence and majesty and all that was sacred…it was so hard to break free from the habit of the old fantasy, and I could feel myself falling back into it again…

He stopped playing and the spell was broken. He was only a mortal man after all, who had deceived me and stolen me away to what was as good as a prison. He was a liar and a fraud, playing with my mind and wounding my heart.

The thought angered me, and I wanted to hurt him as he'd hurt me.

He startled me by turning to speak to me. "Sing, Christine," he commanded, and he began the duet in _Otello. _I was surprised into obeying, but inwardly I seethed. Finally, I was allowed to sing with the genius who had tutored me, but he was not the Angel I'd longed for. And still he cheated me, hiding his face behind that mask when all I wanted was to know who had seen fit to trick me so. Wanted—no, I _had _to know. It was an urge I couldn't deny a second longer.

Before he could react, I reached out and caught the mask in my fingers, tearing it away in one swift motion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Here we go! You wouldn't believe how exhausting this chapter was or how much I had to work on it before it was finished, but I like the way it turned out. Another thumbs up to my beta!**

_Erik_

I heard her shocked gasp at the same instant I realized what she'd done, and my rage exploded in the next heartbeat. With a roar of fury, I shot to my feet and advanced upon her.

"Are you satisfied now?" I shouted down at her. "Is this what you wanted? Is it?" I seized her by the shoulders and shook her so hard her head snapped back and forth. "Is it?"

She screamed and tried to pull away but I yanked her closer, nearly lifting her off her feet as I forced her to look at me. "Go on!" I yelled. "Look! Stare until you're blind! No more lies now, Christine! This is the face of your Angel, and it's as foul as if the Devil crafted it! This is what you were so desperate to see!"

"Let go of me!" she cried, twisting and struggling in my grasp. Her face was white with terror, but it was as meaningless to me as my pain was boundless. "Let go!"

"Damn you! You've ruined everything! I tried to give you your heaven, but you've chosen Hell instead!" I threw her from me as hard as I could and she fell backwards with a cry of pain. Did I hurt her? It didn't matter; this wasn't my Christine. My Christine would never be so heartless, and I would never raise my hands to her like this. This was a treacherous little serpent that tempted and betrayed me, and her cries meant nothing.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded. "Why take my mask from me? Why did you want to see me?" I came at her again and twisted my fingers into her hair, staring down into her petrified eyes and unmoved by them. "Tell me why!"

She raised her arms to try to shield herself. "No, please—"

"Tell me!" I caught her by the wrists and held her, my body shaking in fury. "Were you simply curious to see the man who had hurt you? Did you want to hurt him in return? What do you think he'll do to you now, stupid girl? Do you want to see how much more he'll hurt you?"

She fought harder, screaming louder still, and I laughed at her. I had tried hard enough to shatter the void that surrounded this prison cell and be heard at last, and already knew her efforts were useless. No one could hear her, and there wasn't a soul who would care.

"Or maybe," I went on, driving the knife in deeper and letting the words buckle under my derision, "maybe you're still enough of a fool to think the Angel might exist! This is just another mask, a test of your worth! If you can face down a demon, then surely you'll be blessed beyond all your dreams!" I was soon shouting again, hardly able to make sense of my own thoughts. "Come on then, Christine, keep going!" Ignoring her cries of horror, I grabbed her hands and raked her fingernails across my face, feeling the skin tear and bleed. The pain came as a jolt to my mind through my anger, and I forced her to dig deeper, seeking some shred of sanity in the burn and sting. "Keep going!" I screamed. "There must be a man in here somewhere! He can't be a monster through and through!"

"Stop! Please stop it!"

"He has to be in there! Keep looking, you'll find him if you cut deep enough!"

"Get away from me!"

I was so disgusted with her. She was supposed to be better, to be kinder and more compassionate and to see beyond what her eyes revealed. But she was just like everyone else that only wanted to stare at a freak of nature, and by God, I would see to it that she filled her eyes with me!

And I was disgusted with myself, seeing the revulsion in her eyes and feeling it strike me like the blade of a knife. I was supposed to be better as well. If I couldn't be an angel for her, I would at least have settled for Adonis, but no. I was stuck with my distortion, and she couldn't stand the sight of it. I looked down at her, shocked to see blood on her face, my own blood, fallen from my wounds onto her cheeks as if they were the tears she wept. She would never love me now.

"Oh, Christine…" Despair forced its way past rage and lodged in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I felt as though my ripped flesh was on fire, and I wondered fleetingly if I'd gotten blood on her hands as well. She was still so beautiful, even in her fright, one of the Erinyes come to exact revenge. And if I let her, she would turn away from me forever. "Christine, do you see what you've done? I can't let you go now. You can't leave here ever again!"

Her fear trebled, if possible. "What? What do you mean?"

"You have to stay here forever," I told her. My strength fled me and I sagged to my knees before her. She pulled away from me and scurried across the floor to a safer distance, the chalky paleness of her face making the blood stand out sharper. She watched me as intently as I did her, too terrified to dare look away. "You've seen me, and you would try to leave and never come back. You can't do that, Christine. I can't let you."

"You can't keep me here!" she cried out.

"I have to! You foolish girl, you force me to do it! You ruined everything, and now I have to lock you away for good!"

"No!" She was crying now, tears pouring down her beautiful face. I'd never seen an angel cry, but I supposed the fallen ones had more than enough reason to weep. I began to cry as well, for what she'd done to me and what I must now do to her. "No, don't do this, please! I swear I'll come back, just let me go, please—"

"I told you no!" I hardened myself against the pain that would weaken me. I couldn't allow weakness to come in and make me lose control. I had to be stronger than that. "You have to stay here, Christine, and there's nothing that will change it! You're mine now, do you hear me? Mine!"

She seemed to shrink in on herself, then she stumbled to her feet and fled the room sobbing. I didn't chase after her, letting the misery claim me at last as I picked up my discarded mask and wept.

* * *

_Christine_

I flew blindly through the house in a mad panic, running from room to room as though demons pursued me and searching for a way out. There had to be one somewhere, there just had to be! I had to find it! I couldn't accept the alternative!

I tried every door, vaguely considered windows but dismissed them as we were underground, even tested the walls for passages like the one behind my mirror. But no matter where I ran, there was nowhere for me to go. I'd known all along that no matter what Erik had told me, I was his prisoner. To have it thrust in my face on top of everything else was too much. I was trapped, without freedom, hope, and salvation.

I finally sought what refuge I could in the room I had first woken up in, the room I was forced to assume had been meant for me the whole time. I nearly closed the door as a pitiful attempt to protect myself from the horror in the next room, but I couldn't bear to be shut up, so I left it open and crouched behind the bed, my tears still falling. The sentence that hung over my head felt like the weight of the sky bearing down upon me, and buried deep in the bowels of the earth, it might as well have been.

My heart still raced in terror. Despite my efforts to fight it, the memory of the scene kept playing itself in my mind over and over again: the duet, my resentment, the mask coming away, then—that face. Could I even call it that? It was so unlike any face I had ever seen or could even imagine. Those yellow eyes that had so rattled me were downright hellish glaring out of those dark, hollow sockets, and those gaping nostrils in place of a nose, and twisted flesh drawn tight against bone until I could have sworn it was an undead corpse sitting there before me!

Terrible as it was, the sight of that face was nothing compared to the rage I saw in him mere seconds later. He had seemed more animal than man, lost to thought and reason and led purely by instinct. I could still feel that cold, dead skin ripping away under my nails, and my stomach turned as I looked down at the bloodstains on my fingers.

There was madness in those eyes and violence in those hands, invoking a fear in me I had never wanted to feel in my life nor did I ever want to feel again. I'd been so sure he was about to kill me in his fury, but he might as well have to condemn me as he did. And that had set the seal on the hatred that had been growing in my heart ever since I'd learned of his deception. I didn't know what he really was, but he was no angel and hardly a man, and I hated him with all that I was.

Music began to resonate through the house, music filled with anger, agony and sorrow. I knew instinctively he had run to his _Don Juan Triumphant _to banish the poison of the moment and try to cleanse his soul, but I had to wonder if he even had a soul to be cleansed.

Regardless, it didn't matter and I didn't care. I didn't want to hear the music that had so frightened me. I didn't want to be lost to it and lose myself in the process. I couldn't lose the iota of power I had to my name.

I covered my ears and began to pray. "Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee…"

And yet I wasn't sure anymore that the Lord was with me.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back again, and grateful for all the wonderful reviews so far. I really thought I was going to be burned in effigy for this, but you guys are helping me work up the courage to keep posting, even though this thing's only getting started. I mean it, you might not like where this one is going!**

_Erik_

After I couldn't bear to remain there on the floor anymore, I crawled back to the organ and drew myself onto the bench, feeling as helpless and inanimate as the average rag doll. With a force of will I set my hands to the keys and began to play.

At first it was only despair I could conjure, and it felt as though the entire house echoed with the sound of my pain. It pushed me onward and I carried through into anger, letting my lost hope burst forth in a cacophonous dirge, flowing from one emotion to the next like they were merely variations in key and pounding out the death of my secret dreams. I couldn't stop the torrent once I'd set it free, and it bore me off into a vortex of darkness from which there could only be a slow return to reality.

I played myself to exhaustion, then let my hands drop and my head hang, lacking the strength to even stand again. I hadn't heard anything from Christine the entire time—not that I would have noticed her if she'd come. I was too absorbed to have even known my own name. Now, though, I began to wonder at her absence. Had the music even lost its power to speak to her now? Didn't I even have that much of her?

It was hopeless. All I had wanted was a little joy in a life that had been so filled with sadness, and now I was reduced to locking it away and keeping the key clutched in my fist. This was so far removed from all I'd dreamed of, but I wasn't about to let it slip away from me, not now, not ever.

My stupor was so complete I couldn't even speculate into the future. It wouldn't have been of any use anyway. It had gotten me nowhere so far and I didn't see why that would change all of a sudden. I just sat there staring uncomprehendingly at my life's work. _Don Juan Triumphant…_such a ridiculous dream. Another triumph like this one, and I would completely lose my mind.

Footsteps behind me caused me to turn at last. Christine had finally emerged from wherever she had been hiding, still bearing a frightened expression. Traces of my blood were still on her face, streaked slightly by tearstains. My blood, and it marked her as mine as clearly as her expression. It was the look of the hunted, the prey on the verge of lying down and welcoming the kill. She was broken by my own hand.

"What do you want?" I asked harshly. "Come to have another look?"

She shook her head and stared down at the floor. Was she too afraid to meet my eyes, or did she just not want to have to see me? "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Sorry for what you saw," I spat. "Sorry for what it got you. Sorry you brought it upon yourself. Do you think coming back and pleading for forgiveness will earn you your freedom? You're pathetic, Christine."

"I—didn't realize—"

"Realize what? That I might wear a mask for a reason and there would be consequences for removing it? What did you think was going to happen? That I would magically transform into some heavenly being and all your dreams would come true?" The words tasted bitter as I flung them at her, reminding me of how foolish I had been to cherish dreams of my own. "Dreams are for children, and it's time you realized that."

"Please, just let me leave here," she begged. "I'll come back, I promise—"

"Oh, you'll come back all right, with a host of saviors on your heels sworn to make the monster pay for carrying you off and spoiling your innocent fantasies. Well, what if he was to spoil you entirely, and destroy what innocence still remains?"

Her eyes grew wide and a pink blush crept into her cheeks. "What are you talking about?"

"I think you know, Christine." I got to my feet at last and walked towards her. She took several hasty steps backwards but I held her by the arm and said, "Men aren't angels, and they have their desires, don't they? You know this, no matter how you try to pretend otherwise. What you don't know is how I've suffered to watch you these past months and feel my own desire scorch me like a flame held to a sheet of paper. Have you ever burned like that, Christine? It's not in the least bit pleasurable, I can assure you. And there's nothing stopping me from showing you what it's like, is there?"

She didn't reply, but I felt her quake beneath my hand and saw the look in her eyes. She was scared to death, and she had every reason to be. It was a terrifying thing to feel such passion sear your flesh and leave you helpless. It was the hell I lived through even as I told her of it.

"So how about it, my dear?" I asked, spitting out the endearment like an insult. "After struggling under such pain for so long, being the Angel you wanted and doing so much to make you happy, I think I deserve to be made happy. Don't you?"

She opened her mouth, her lips quivering, but no sound came out.

I grabbed her other arm and held her against my body, leaning in closer until there was barely an inch between our faces. "Where are your pleas for mercy this time? 'No, please!'" I mocked, pitching my voice high and shrill. "'Get away from me! Stop it!'"

"Let me go," she whimpered. "Please—"

I laughed at her. "Did that work last time?" I demanded. "What makes you think it will now?"

A sob burst from her but she clamped her lips shut and stifled it. I watched one more tear fall onto her cheek, mingling with the dried blood. I had never wanted to do this to her, but I didn't know how much longer I could go on before I lost control…

I released her and went back to the organ, finally putting my mask back on. "Go wash your face," I ordered. "And then get back in here for your lesson. I'm not about to let all our hard work go to waste, even if you'll only sing for me ever again."

The words had hardly left me before she'd hurried from the room again. I sat down to the keyboard and stared again at the music in front of me. I felt the familiar ache deep in my body and clenched my fists to still my hands. There was only so much temptation a man could bear before he succumbed to sin, and the flames of eternal damnation would follow. The only question was which fire burned hotter.

* * *

_Christine_

The water was so cold against my skin it made my hair stand on end. I scrubbed and scrubbed, working diligently to get every last bit of blood from under my nails and agonizing that the memories now staining my soul couldn't wash away so easily.

I looked up from the sink into the mirror, startled at what I saw. The transformation that had begun when Erik had lured me from my dressing room had progressed and taken a radically different turn. That particular remembrance was rather hazy, but the last time I'd seen my own reflection, the wildness there had its foundations in bliss. Now I saw only dread, desperation, and despair.

His words to me still haunted me, speaking of his desire and sparking that fear in me once more. My knowledge of such things was limited to the hushed conversations I overheard in the Opera of the ballet girls who seemed to take pride in their shameless misconduct. I had paid them no mind before, but now I was once again torn between the wish to be better informed and the longing to remain in the dark. What was it he expected of me, exactly? Graphic details and murky uncertainty were equally repugnant, and it was all I could do to hold those thoughts at bay. I didn't want to know, and I didn't want to learn.

I proceeded to cleanse the rest of the blood from my face, both anxious to prolong my return to Erik and fearful of what would happen if I dawdled too long. I felt like I was walking a razor's edge, fighting to maintain my balance while every outside force conceivable buffeted me this way and that. How long would it be before I fell?

My footsteps were hesitant and unwilling as I went back to Erik's bedroom. He still sat before the organ, waiting for me to come to him as though it was a sure thing. But then, why wouldn't he be so confident? He'd already made that much clear; he could do whatever he wanted with me, and I couldn't stop him.

"You certainly took your time," he remarked indifferently. I didn't know what to expect. He'd been so furious and so menacing, and now there was no emotion at all. It frightened me as much as when he'd screamed and raged to see him so cool and so detached, though I couldn't have begun to explain why. It only reinforced how shaky my position was, never knowing what was coming or what would set him off.

He played a few chords and we began my lesson. I was so tense with fear my voice refused to come free, locked somewhere between my throat and my heart. My body couldn't bring itself to sing, and I lacked the will to try—that is, until Erik stepped in. The Angel of Music had been a firm and unyielding tutor, but also patient and gentle. All of that was gone now. I could see the frustration rising back to the surface as I struggled through the first exercises, and when we proceeded to an actual aria his temper worsened. My voice trembled and shook, I couldn't stay on pitch, and the sound was strained and weak. It was nothing like when I'd sung Marguerite at the Opera. In fact, you might not even have known the diva of that night was the same girl that stood in that room of death with that cadaver. It wasn't though, was it? The diva had been the product of a lie. This girl that could barely stumble through a warm-up was an ugly reality laid bare.

He suddenly stopped playing and I quit singing immediately. "What do you think you're playing at?" he demanded. "A novice could do as much, and I thought I'd made certain you were above such mediocrity."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I'm trying—"

"Don't try!" he snapped. "Just do it right!"

I swallowed hard and began again, but he stopped me almost instantly. "Damn it, Christine, have you forgotten everything I've spent the last three months hammering into that head of yours? What's wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry!" I repeated, my voice rising in my anxiety. "I'm not meaning to, I just can't—"

"The hell you can't! Do it again!" He played the introduction again and I focused harder than ever, but all that came out was a petrified squeak.

He slammed his hands down on the keys and thundered, "Christine Daaé, if you can't even—"

"It doesn't help when you're frightening me like this!" I insisted, then clapped my hand over my mouth, terrified I'd crossed the line and wondering what my impertinence would cost me.

But he surprised me. He sat motionless for several long, tense moments, then forced a bland smile and said, "Of course, Christine, forgive me. I forgot how easily influenced you are. Now, let's just take a deep breath—" he inhaled pointedly and I mimicked him, then released it when he did, "and try to calm ourselves, all right? Shall we try again?"

I nodded meekly.

He began to hum along to the melody and I felt the tension slide away as I began to relax. Once upon a time I thrilled to hear that beautiful voice, but now I hated it with a passion. It was only a weapon, and I was still powerless against it. He beckoned for me to sing, and this time it flowed as effortlessly as if he'd bewitched it from me. I even hated the sound of my own voice, so twisted as it was by his instruction into what he deemed acceptable. I kept singing, but I could feel a heavy sickness in my heart, spreading through my veins with every beat. This was to be my life now, to sing for him, to speak to him, and God only knew what else to satisfy his whims. I wanted to sink to the floor and cry but he would never allow it, so I remained standing and finished the aria.

I stood waiting for his judgment, only caring if I met with his approval because I feared the consequences of his displeasure. He sat ponderously for a time, not sparing me a glance and caressing the keyboard absently, then finally he said, "Not at all up to your usual standard, but it will do for now. I expect more from you in the future." He turned at last and looked into my eyes; I felt as though that yellow stare would burn holes in my skin. "Is that clear, Christine?"

I nodded again.

"Good. Now go rest, and I'll come for you when dinner is ready."

I left the room without another word and returned to mine, more drained than I ever remembered being after a lesson. It wasn't too hard to figure out why, and when I realized every minute of every day would carry the same weight of suspense and fear, I had to fight to keep from dashing myself against the walls before anything worse could happen.

But…why shouldn't I? It was the last thing I had control over, and with time he would probably even take that away from me as well. Better I seize the chance while I still had it, right?

I crawled onto the bed and buried my face in a pillow. I was too exhausted for even that last energetic act. More out of habit than anything, I began to pray, but the words echoed hollowly through my soul and offered no comfort. I wondered if I was too close to Hell for them to even reach Heaven, and the sickness in my heart grew stronger. I'd never felt so alone…never…


	6. Chapter 6

**All right, here we go. Believe me when I say posting this is one of the scariest. Things. I've ever done. Period.  
**

_Erik_

Time went by so slowly that the hours felt like years. I was astonished to notice that Christine had only been with me four days—they had seemed more like lifetimes of silence and mistrust and frustration. She stayed as far away from me as she could until I summoned her back into my presence, then she would only speak when I spoke to her and only looked at me when I ordered her to. The blue eyes I had once seen so vibrant and alive were now worse than despondent. I sensed she was doing what little she could to brace herself for imminent disaster.

I felt the strain on my own nerves as well, still furious at her betrayal and still battling my obsession and hunger. I lost my temper with her more and more but only just managed to check myself, though it grew more difficult every time. We were both stretched as taut as the surface of a drum, and only even more time would reveal who would break first.

After a few days I made more of an effort to be civil, hoping that by acting in a calm, dignified manner I could remain so. But my dignity was eroding fast. I loved her, and now she forced me to lock her up like a nightingale in a cage! She'd decimated all the hopes and plans I'd had for us in one impetuous act! I hated her, loved her, scorned her, doted on her, ignored her, fantasized about her, God, it was driving me insane! I wished to Heaven I'd never set eyes on her! Now I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything, and while she was completely under my power, she was even further out of reach.

We sat in the dining room one night, and I sat across from her as she ate. I watched her every move, poking halfheartedly at the food, reaching for her wine glass, and taking dainty, ladylike bites. She was exquisite, as close to perfection as humanly possible. I envied her, wishing with all my heart I possessed even a fraction of her beauty; perhaps if I did, we wouldn't be in this mess. There would have been no cause for deceit and trickery, she wouldn't be a prisoner here, and I would never have needed a mask.

I felt the need to explain myself to her, to try to make her understand. "I thought I was making you happy," I said, "by pretending to be your Angel of Music."

She paused, lowering her fork from its journey to her lips. Once again, I couldn't restrain myself from staring at them, their graceful curve drawing my eyes like a spell had been cast upon me. Their shape, the delicate bow of the upper and the plump swell of the lower…their soft pink hue like a maiden's blush…captivating as a blooming rose and I was ensorcelled by them with no though for whatever thorns might be lurking out of sight. "I had to lie," I continued. "I wish it hadn't been necessary, but it was."

"My dead father's promise," she said quietly, still not looking at me. "You manipulated me using my dead father's promise and twisted my dearest dream to suit your purposes."

"Would it have made a difference?" I asked. "If I had come to you as I am, a pariah thrown into isolation, would you have considered me?"

She didn't reply.

"Look at me!" I burst out, and her head snapped up in an instant. "You loathe the very sight of me! You hate me!"

"I hate you because you lied to me," she replied. I had expected her to deny it, desperate to keep from angering me, but there was only cold honesty in her words. "I hate you because you used me. And I hate you because you took my freedom from me."

"Christine, please try to understand—"

"I can't understand. There's nothing you could do to make me understand."

I reached across the table for her hand but she snatched it back. I wasn't even allowed to touch her. That simple act of defiance both enraged and agonized me. "All I ever wanted was to be loved for myself!" I told her. "There was no one on earth who gave a damn about me. They all wished me dead, or at least as far away from them as possible, away from all the good, decent, normal people of the world! They pushed me out and wanted nothing to do with me, and all I had done wrong was to be born! I just wanted to be loved, Christine, just once!"

She didn't look away this time, and I could see tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm sorry for what you've suffered," she said. "I truly am. But what right does that give you to do the things you've done—"

"What right?" I stormed. "What right did my mother have when she called me monster and demanded that I stay away from her? What right did anyone else have when they put me on display like an animal in a zoo and used my pain for their profit? What right do we have but the right we take?" I snatched the wine glass from the table and threw it at the wall behind her. It smashed into pieces and the wine flew everywhere, dousing her and leaving a stain on the wallpaper and carpet.

"If I've learned nothing else about the world," I said, my voice climbing to a shout, "it's that the only happiness we're allowed is what we're willing to claim for ourselves! No one is just going to hand it to us on a silver platter and say 'enjoy!' We have to stand up and take it, no matter what the cost! Any fool too afraid of the collateral damage deserves no better than to spend his life in misery! I'm tired of being afraid, damn it, and I want to see what it's like to be happy, like a normal person! A normal person, Christine! You don't know how blessed you were, to have even a lie to bring you joy! I never even had that! It's my turn to have something, and if that's too much for you to swallow, then choke on it!"

She closed her eyes and hid her face in her hands. In the silence following my outburst, I could hear her start to cry and I began to feel guilty after all. I never wanted to hurt her, but it just seemed to come so easily to me to do so. I stood and walked around the table, kneeling beside her chair. "Christine," I began, laying my hand on her shoulder.

"Don't!" she exclaimed. "Don't touch me!" She leaped from the chair and ran from the room, leaving me there on the floor once again, not even allowed to touch her…

She stayed in her room for the rest of the night, and I did everything in my power to keep from losing my mind. I _needed _her to understand me, but she refused to even try! She saw only the deceit, and decided the motivations must be as sinful as the crime. I didn't want to hurt her, and she went out of her way to punish me for what I'd done. And in the end, she wouldn't even permit my hand upon hers.

Just one touch…that's all I wanted…it seized my thoughts and wouldn't let me go, desire transformed into a simple, unbearable need that consumed me. Just one touch…it wasn't so much to ask for…just this once…

Borne away on the insistent, whispering impulse, I went down the hall to her bedroom.

* * *

_Christine_

After I'd bathed and washed off the spilled wine, I was too weary to keep my eyes open. I climbed into bed and fell asleep almost instantly, lulled into dreamless oblivion and feeling adrift on an ocean of hazy mists…

I felt something cool on my face, stroking my cheek and tracing my lips and jaw. For the most part I was still too far away in my slumber to give it much thought, and I slept on. Something in the innermost reaches of my mind sensed that I was not alone, and I slowly began to pull back to consciousness, now dimly aware that the bed was sagging slightly as though someone else had added their weight to it. It took so much effort to shift around even a fraction of an inch away and I was still so tempted to just ignore it and escape back into sleep. Then came a cold touch on my thigh and I jolted awake.

Someone was sitting beside me on the bed, having drawn the blankets off me and lifted the skirt of my nightgown to bare my legs. He was caressing my skin single-mindedly, yet at the same time as if without conscious thought.

"Erik?" I asked nervously.

"Go back to sleep, Christine," he told me, and I saw in his eyes trace a path up and down my body. There was something in that gaze of fire that made my breath come short and my heart begin to hammer in fear, something similar to that animal instinct I'd seen when I'd taken off his mask. But this time there was no rage attached. This time his gaze seared me with something else instead.

"What are you doing?" I said, the words rushed and coming stilted past the terror constricting my chest.

"Just go back to sleep." His hand moved farther up my leg, pushing my nightgown even higher as it gathered on his arm. I gave a petrified cry and tried to bolt away, but he clamped down tight, his other hand pushing me back by the shoulder. "Don't struggle," he ordered sharply.

A panicked whine filled my head and I couldn't think beyond fighting to get away from him. "Let go!" I cried. "Let go, leave me alone!"

His grip tightened and he spoke in a rough whisper, his yellow eyes still staring. "I just want to touch you, Christine."

"No! Get away from me, let me go!" I tried to push him away but he grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the mattress. I didn't give up, kicking out at him frantically, but to my horror he climbed on top of me and trapped me beneath his body.

"I can't stand this anymore!" he burst out. "I can't stand wanting you, needing you, and unable to even take your hand! Why do you make me feel this way? You treat me like less than a man, and still I burn like one! I can't take it any longer, it's destroying me!"

"Get off me!" I screamed. "Please, don't, have mercy—"

"Mercy! I've begged for it for so long and it never comes! No mercy, no kindness, no empathy, no love, and it's not fair, Christine! It's not fair! Don't I deserve to be loved like anyone else?"

"Don't do this!" I pleaded, tears stinging my eyes and feeling as though I would fly apart into a million pieces if something didn't stop this. Something had to stop this! "Please, Erik, I beg you, no!"

"I could love you," he said yearningly, his masked face only inches from mine. "I could love you so much if you would only let me—"

"No!" I screamed again, trying vainly to wriggle out from underneath him, to throw him off me, something! "No, don't do this! Oh God, please—"

"There is no God, Christine!" he shouted, mania echoing in the words. "There can't be, for Him to let innocent people suffer like this! We shouldn't be here, neither one of us! If there was a God, He would save us both! There is no God!" He pushed my nightgown up around my waist and I felt his hand between my legs.

Something between a scream and a sob tore from me. "No! Stop it!"

"I can't stop it! I can't fight this anymore! Please, Christine, just let me love you…"

I couldn't even speak, hardly even able to breathe. I tried, oh God I tried to get away, but he was stronger than I was and he wouldn't let go. No matter how I fought, he wouldn't let me go. The pounding of my heart was like a furious drum beat proceeding an execution, a pulsating rhythm that foretold the inevitable. I tried to keep fighting, doing everything in my power to resist him, but I had no power, no power at all. Try as I might, there was nothing I could do, no way out, and only one end on the horizon. Only one. My blood ran cold but I felt as though I was on fire with fear, disgust, and plain adrenaline from fighting him, but I finally lay still and gave in. He'd won.

Tears continued to flow but I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to look at him, I didn't want to see him, forcing my mind elsewhere rather than dwell on what he was doing to my body. He had taken off my undergarments and moved my legs apart, touching me again. I tried to think of something else, but—oh God, I could feel his fingers, so cold and so ruthless, reaching inside me until I was writhing with discomfort. This couldn't be happening…it wasn't real…it was just a terrible, terrible dream…_Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…_

I let out a gasp of shock and pain. His invasion was entirely new to my body and it hurt so much, but it would hurt even more before he was finished. That much I _did _know. My face burned as I blushed guiltily. It was wrong, surely it was just in my head, this whole thing was just a nightmare! I didn't want it to be real, I didn't want it at all! "Please stop," I whimpered. "Please—"

He didn't listen, simply moving his fingers again and sending another wave stealing over me. Why was this happening to me? Was this a just punishment for my foolishness? Is this what I deserved? I could almost feel my soul being ripped apart in shame, and anger. He was supposed to be an angel, my teacher, my friend! How could this be happening? I didn't want this! I wanted it to stop! _…Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done…_

He pushed my legs farther apart, and I felt his body press against me, that hardest part right where his fingers had been. No, no, no! _…on earth as it is in Heaven—_

I screamed again at the pain of him tearing through me with no attempt at gentleness or compassion. He began to move, thrusting in and out, sparing me no thought and concerned only with his own gratification. The pain grew worse as he sped up and I choked on my tears and struggled to breathe. I tried to hold still and let it be done quickly, but my traitorous body continued to squirm and thrash in agony. I could hear his breath coming in short bursts, feel it on my face, and even smell it in my nostrils, but I still refused to open my eyes.

Then I heard his deep groan and felt something hot rush into me. He collapsed on top of me and lay still for what seemed like an eternity, then he finally pulled away. I tried to run but he lay beside me and made me sit still. He raised his hand and wiped the tears from my face, and then he sang.

I felt as though I was going to be sick; the false Angel of Music singing for me again, because I had pleased him. Bile rose in my throat at the thought and made my skin crawl so that I wanted to peel it from my bones with my bare hands. That voice that had once been so adored, so worshiped…worshiped! I had idolized him, and this is what it earned me! If I could, I would have ripped his throat out or cut off my own ears, anything so I would never have to hear that now-hated voice again, that constant reminder of how stupid I'd been and all that had been stolen from me. He sang only a simple lullaby, for whatever twisted reason, then at last he rose and left without another word.

I waited until he'd shut the door again before I bolted for the bathroom and bowed over the sink, vomiting uncontrollably until I was merely dry heaving. I dropped to my knees on the floor and felt something warm and wet on my thighs. I looked down and saw my own blood, mingling with something else that hadn't come from me, and I remembered that hot rush…

His, marked again, and permanently this time. This would never wash away. For as long as I lived, the scars would remain.

I curled up in a ball on the tiled floor and cried.


	7. Chapter 7

**To those of you who made your opinions known last chapter, thank you for your support. I just knew I was going to get flamed to kingdom come, but you proved me wrong. :)**

**And just a heads-up: it's not about to get any easier.**

_Erik_

I left her room again, feeling numb and puzzled by what had just happened. Did…did it really just happen? I couldn't be certain. Part of me was still in disbelief. I'd only meant to touch her without seeing her disgust or having her run away, but it was like being intoxicated, my judgment impaired and my inhibitions set aside. After so long going reviled and shunned, I had the chance at last to know, and not just wonder, what it was like…what I'd been missing…it went to my head and I couldn't control myself a second longer. I had to have her. She had to be mine.

I froze in my tracks on the way to my bedroom, awareness and sobriety returning in a rush. There was a word for what I'd just done, and it was a terrible one. I'd raped her.

In an instant a yawning chasm seemed to open up before me, blackest insanity roiling in its abysmal depths. No, I couldn't have done that to her! I would never hurt her! I _loved _her! I must be mistaken, that wasn't right at all! I felt myself leaning closer to the edge of that chasm, ready to fall—

No, wait, I _was _mistaken…I had to be. I could never hurt her, and I'd promised myself I wouldn't lay a hand on her against her wishes. She had fought at first, and had she continued to struggle I would have put a stop to everything. But she hadn't. She'd let me make love to her. She had accepted me.

I recalled her tears as it happened, but they were only natural. It was my understanding that there was pain for the woman the first time. I probably should have been more considerate of her, but I was still moved she'd given me her virginity. I had made my threats, but in the end we both knew I would never have followed through on them; why would I? I loved her. And she loved me, this proved it! There was hope for us yet!

Reassured, I continued on my way and returned to my room, inexplicably tired but my faith restored. Perhaps there was a God after all, to send me this blessing after a lifetime of suffering. My years had been spent in darkness, and now Christine had come to bring in the light. It had been hard at first—no, hard was an understatement. It had been nearly impossible at first and I had nearly given up, but we had found a way.

I stretched out in my coffin with a sigh, remembering how it had felt to touch her, first her warm skin and then—it had sent a shock racing through me and I'd been eager for more, feeling my body hum and throb. _More, more, _that was the only thought in my head and the need to take her and make her my own had pushed me onward. At the precise moment of our coupling, the exact instant our bodies were made one, it was like the world had been made right all of a sudden, and I didn't want it to end. But end it did, and all too soon, though I should have seen that coming. Control was beyond me, and it had been so overwhelming that at first I couldn't think straight. When I was lucid again, I realized she was still crying, so I wiped the tears away and held her as I sang to her, lending her my comfort and my love.

It had been the most blissful, wonderful moment of my life, and I wanted a thousand more like it. The only thing that could have made it better was if I'd had the courage to take off my mask and kiss her as I'd longed to do for months. Maybe someday, but not yet…

Sleep was imminent; I could feel it creeping upon me like a soft, warm blanket. I sighed again and closed my eyes—

I saw hers again, terror and tears filling their depths, and I heard her beg me to stop—

I sat bolt upright, my heart racing and my chest heaving as I fought for breath. That chasm lay at my feet, and I could just feel the ground slipping out beneath me…

Telling myself to remain calm, I remembered what was important: she had let me, she had accepted me at last, and it was all right. I had nothing to reproach myself with, and no reason to feel remorseful.

I nodded decisively, lay back down, and soon gave in to slumber.

* * *

_Christine_

Sleep didn't come again that night, and I didn't want it to. I didn't think I would ever sleep again. I just stayed there on the bathroom floor in the darkness, alternating between more tears and shocked nothingness. There were times I could almost convince myself it hadn't really happened, but the ache inside me and the evidence of my pain and his pleasure was too real to deny.

And I tried to deny it at first. I had crawled to the bathtub and climbed inside, not even taking off my nightgown, and washed the blood and seed from my legs. If it wasn't there, then it never happened, that's what I kept telling myself, as if I could turn back time and erase it with hot water and a bar of soap. But…I could still feel it! It was like it was happening all over again the more I thought about it, and I didn't want to think about it, but I couldn't stop it! It wouldn't go away!

I got back out of the tub and lay soaking wet on the floor, the fabric of my dress clinging to me like a second skin. I should have done more to stop him. I should have fought harder. I should have let him kill me rather than what I did. Instead, I just lay there and let him have his way with me like I didn't care. I covered my head with my arms as though I could shield myself from all the unwelcome thoughts that screamed in my head. Why bother trying to protect myself anymore? It was already done; I had allowed him as he forced his way into my body, and I'd been rewarded for my good behavior like a whore.

That's what I was now. His own little whore.

I clenched my fists until my nails drew beads of blood on my palms. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth, back and forth, feeling like a dagger had been plunged into my heart. There was a wild, wounded animal inside me howling in anguish, and I wanted to scream and scream until I dropped dead, but I was so scared it would draw him back that it stilled in my throat.

_Why? _ I asked myself. _Why me? I didn't know this would happen, and how could I have? I truly believed in him! How was I supposed to see through his lies? _I felt so stupid, so cheap, dirty and worthless. I ought to have stood on a corner with a sign: Christine Daaé, the lark who will believe anything. Sing for her, and she'll spread her legs for you.

Despite my struggle to hold it in, a cry burst from me and I pressed my hand to my mouth, biting down hard on my knuckles and feeling more tears fall, their salt mingling with the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. It was no excuse for what he'd done to me! He had no right! He shouldn't have filled my head with such wonderful nonsense and let me love him as a guardian, then abuse my trust and use me like I was nothing more than a hole in the mattress! I hated him! I hated him! I beat my fist against the floor until it felt like I'd shattered every bone in my hand, then laid my forehead against the cold tile and was still.

I asked again, why did this happen to me? Surely I didn't deserve this, no matter how naïve I'd been. Why, then, had God abandoned me to this? Why?

_There is no God, Christine…there can't be, for Him to let innocent people suffer…_

No Angel of Music, no promise fulfilled, no one watching over me, and…the sickness in my heart swallowed my soul, if those even existed after all…no God. There was no Heaven, only hell on earth.

* * *

_Erik_

I dreamed as I slept, and I could see her. She was onstage at the Opera singing Marguerite, and I could see the joy radiating from her as she sang for her Angel of Music, eager at the promise of Heaven awaiting her. She was such an innocent, naïve, trusting child, believing in pretty stories with all the credulity of youth.

Then, like lightning, she was as wild and desperate as a lost lamb worried by a wolf. There was the fear of the Devil in her face, and her prayers to God went unanswered. If He heard her, He was ignoring her. Marguerite's fate had at least been merciful; Christine had fallen instead to a monster—

I awoke drenched in sweat and a shout about to leap from me. My pulse was racing out of control and I couldn't think, paralyzed by what I'd seen. When was that fear? When? I had hovered over her and she'd stared up at me, reading doom in my eyes, but when? I had lost my temper with her when she'd stolen my mask and she'd been frightened enough then; was that it? I had to know! Was it that, or when I'd…

My mind rebelled against it. I couldn't face that thought. That couldn't be what I'd seen, because _that _hadn't happened. I had relived the moment of her betrayal and my pain because I'd been so sure I'd lost her forever in that moment.

But I hadn't, I reminded myself. I hadn't lost her after all. Mere hours ago, we had…

I massaged my temples with my fingers, trying to think. I just wasn't sure of anything. I was so confused, and nothing made any kind of sense. Everything was possible in the dark, but truth was revealed with the coming of the dawn—isn't that what the storybooks said? I could imagine anything in the hours of the night, but I wouldn't be certain of the reality until morning.

Well, _that _at least made sense. She—she would tell me everything I needed to know, then…

But what if I didn't want to know? What if the truth was that horrifying? I dug my fingernails into my scalp, sick with the thought of it. If I had…if that was what really happened…

I fought it off. There was no point in wondering when I would learn one way or another in a few hours.

Yet dawn didn't come down here, and time had been acting strangely ever since I brought her here. What should have been only a few hours dragged on and on until it felt like time had stopped moving altogether. Suspended in limbo, I waited and waited for her to appear, but she never did.

Eventually, I couldn't stand to wait any longer, and I went to her room. I didn't waste time knocking, but instead threw open the door and rushed inside.

The bed was a rumpled mess, and empty. There was no light, but I could see bloodstains on the sheets, and I couldn't help but remember my blood on her face, marking ownership. The image was convoluted, but the meaning stood unchanged.

I shook my head in dismissal, then crossed to the bathroom and struck the door open with the flat of my hand. There was a soft cry and frantic scuffling, and I caught sight of her cowering on the floor, still in her nightgown and crouched in a frightened huddle, staring at me with fear, hatred, and a raging, stabbing pain in her eyes reading like a death sentence.

So. It was true.

I detached in a heartbeat, severing myself from all emotion that might otherwise weaken me. So…

So what? People got hurt every day, people who had done nothing to deserve it, innocent people harmed for no reason at all. No one cared or even noticed when the blameless cried out in agony for a hand to deliver them, and she was hardly blameless. She made me feel things in such excess I couldn't control myself. She evoked such strong passions and inspired such pitiful weakness. I had asked for deliverance from her temptation and no one heard my pleas. She brought it all upon herself and now she would make the fault mine if I let her. To hell with her.

"Sleep well?" I asked with as much spleen as I felt.

She made a strangled noise in her throat but otherwise tried to hide her terror. I looked her over with probing eyes. She'd never been this cowed before, like she would swallow herself whole to escape her surroundings. Well, I was the one who surrounded her and it was my presence she felt, and she couldn't escape me in my own domain.

I walked to her, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet. I didn't bother looking at her again as I led her back into the bedroom, ignoring her moan of dread.

"Get dressed," I told her. "I expect you to be ready when I return."

"Ready for what?" she asked haltingly.

"Your lesson, Christine. I've told you before, I won't have all the work I put into teaching you go to waste." I released her and she wrapped her arms around herself, staring down at the floor. I saw a tear roll down the bridge of her nose and fall to strike the carpet, but I refused to show pity, lowering my voice dangerously. "_Now, _Christine."

She only stood trembling for another moment, then turned and walked slowly to the dresser and began picking out clothes. Her hands were shaking violently as she moved to unlace her nightgown and she kept turned away from me, but I could still hear her crying softly to herself.

I watched her as she pushed the dress off her shoulders, seeing pale flesh reveal itself to my gaze. She hesitated, then let it fall down her body to land at her feet. I couldn't help it; I let out a gasp to see her bared to me, the slope of her back, the curve of her buttocks, the turn of her legs. Arousal was inevitable, and I wanted to see more. "Turn around," I ordered, a hoarse edge to my voice.

She raised her hands to her face and gave a choked sob.

"Turn," I repeated more forcefully.

She shuffled her feet and kept crying.

"Christine, I won't say it again," I warned her.

At last, she faced me, moving slowly again and still hiding her face in her hands. She tried to use her arms to cover herself, but at my command she lowered them and stood there silently as I ravaged her with my eyes. I focused on nothing, intent on devouring it all. Her breasts were full and heavy, the nipples pink and perfect. Her waist was slender and curved smoothly into her hips. I stared up and down her shapely legs again, then came to rest at the maidenhair between them, thinking once more of that warm depth beneath. I remembered what it was like to lose myself there, how easy and how good it felt, and I ached to know what the rest of her felt like.

I glanced up at her face, and she was staring at the floor again, tears streaming down cheeks flushed red with humiliation as she endured my scrutiny. I ought to make her look at me, so she could see just how she tempted me and how I was about to lose control all over again…

I turned and headed for the door. "Finish," I instructed. "And be ready when I come back." I closed the door and shut her inside.

Victory was mine. _I _was in control. _I _held the reins, not her. I was determined to see things as they were from then on—I had the power over her and she did what I made her do, not the other way around.

She sang when I went back for her. She sang because I told her to. She spoke when I ordered it and held her tongue when I demanded silence. After the lesson she obediently sat in the dining room and ate the meal I set before her. That night I told her to undress again and hold still as I explored her naked body with hands and mouth until I'd gained knowledge of every inch of her flesh and until she even dried up her tears when I said so.

I had her on the end of a string like a marionette, and like a marionette she danced and capered to my liking. She was mine, in every sense of the word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Here we have it, the longest chapter yet, and while it might not have been as difficult to write as others have been, it shocked me how it just flowed like it was nothing. Eek! Evil Erik is getting EASY?! Save us all!**

**I'm definitely going to work on something very light and obscenely fluffy when this is all over.**

_Christine_

Was it even possible for me to still be alive? I wasn't sure, I felt so dead. No, that wasn't quite true; every time I thought he couldn't possibly hurt me and shame me any more than he already had, he would do something to wound me again. My severed nerves shrieked with pain and I felt as though my spirit had been locked away in a box lined with razors and the key melted down into ore.

He had told me he loved me and called it love the first time he defiled me, but he seemed done with such excuses now. He was past caring and past mercy. I just wanted to die, being forced to stand there naked while he ogled me like a cow at auction, and then to perform for him and try to sing when he'd even soured the joy of my life for me. Then he took me back into my room and I had to let him use me all over again. I tried to resist at first, but he made me submit soon enough and I couldn't even weep at the anguish, desolation and heartbreak I felt. It broke my heart to feel so violated, like I wasn't even human and had no voice and no feeling and no soul. Little by little, he was killing me.

I forgot there was such a thing as day and night, it was all just one unbroken nightmare. After that second molestation he didn't lay a hand on me, and he didn't need to. He'd already reduced me to a wretched fragment of what I once was. It used to be I wanted to please the Angel of Music because I craved his praise and approval. Now I did whatever it took to pacify that monster so he wouldn't hurt me again. I hated the groveling, subservient creature I had become, and I hated the cruel, malicious beast he had proved to be. He controlled my life, such as it was, and death was the only escape I could see, but he would never allow me that. He was the master. I was nothing, nothing but what he wanted me to be.

I wondered a time or two how a man could be so vile. How could he do these things to me? How had I wronged him to earn this? What made him think he could lie and steal and despoil, or that he had any right to what he took from me? I had given him my heart once only for him to cut it to pieces, and he'd gone a step further to rob me of my mind and body. I worked out eventually what it was that he wanted—power. He wanted to be assured that no matter what I did, I was his to control. If I dared to step out of line, he would find a way to punish me like he already had.

What else could I do but give him what he wanted?

I played by his rules, an unwilling contestant in a game I despised and barely understood. The only thing clear to me was that I was going to lose, that I had lost already. There was just no point anymore. No matter how I tried to hide, he was always there. No matter what I did, he held the chains that bound me. No matter how desperately I wanted my life back, my life was his.

* * *

_Erik_

I loved being the one in charge…after a lifetime spent as the plaything of fools and tyrants, it was my word that carried weight and my will that mattered. Christine had always taken my words to heart and always bowed to my will, but now my authority was absolute. I had crushed her resistance, and now she lived for me.

But not as I'd wanted…she obeyed me out of fear, not because she cared for me. She would never care for me, I knew that now, but I still wanted it. I just wanted _someone _to care. That was my true weakness after all, and desire merely a byproduct. I still wanted her to love me, but all she gave me was fear and hatred. If only she knew how I longed for her love, perhaps she would show some understanding and be a little more compassionate to the pitiful man who only wanted some affection—

No, I couldn't allow myself to think like that. If she knew how weak I was on the inside, she would turn it to her advantage and leave me for good. She would never give me her love, so I would have to be content with dominating her through terror, becoming the tyrant I had loathed. It had been good enough for me, so it was good enough for her.

But in the most silent hours I spent alone, my heart began to doubt. How had I felt to be so treated, like a mongrel and a prized show animal in turns? After the time I'd spent enduring such abuse, how could I find it in myself to visit that same pain upon another, especially Christine? She had been my friend once, the only friend I'd ever had. Now the look I saw in her eyes was mine to cherish…the look of a soul in anguish, a heart going hollow, and a life slowly drawing to a close…

There had to be something I could do to repair the damage. I would never be able to live with myself if I destroyed her in my own darkness. I had created this…thing, this thing I saw before me. She wasn't Christine anymore. I didn't know what she was, but she wasn't the Christine I had loved, adored, and tutored. Even the music was gone from her, and she no longer fell under the enchantments I tried to cast for her during our lessons. They had lost their mystique and wonder.

_Perhaps if she had the chance to be onstage once more, _I wondered, _to set herself free again, she might be herself once again…_ On the hope that the chance to relive her triumph before everything had gone so wrong was what she needed to restore her spirit, I set to work ensuring her place in the Opera. Christine would sing again, and on that I was resolute.

The Opera was abuzz when Carlotta befell a terrible accident during rehearsal…after insisting on working past a trifle of a sore throat, she had begun with confidence, yet the cast and crew could hardly believe their ears when, in the middle of her duet with Carolus Fonta, her voice failed her and she croaked like a toad. She struggled on valiantly, showing more fortitude and stubbornness than I'd given her credit for, but it was all in vain. That voice that had earned her such acclaim was gone, and she'd rushed from the rehearsal in a panic. The word was that she'd consulted a physician, and he had passed the diagnosis of laryngitis.

The managers were in a tumult. Who was to take Carlotta's place? There was no one else in the company who could sing Marguerite, now that she was ill, and _Faust _was due to play in two days!

Just as I'd planned it…no one would have thought La Carlotta's usual cup of tea before rehearsal could lead to such dire consequences, but no one knew I had enhanced it with something exotic. It wasn't laryngitis, but the scratchy throat and the fear of a mishap like that croak would keep her out of my way. My skills for ventriloquism had never been so useful.

I returned to Christine that day to inform her of the news. "I want you to return to the Opera," I said plainly. We were in my room; I was in my place at the organ, and she in hers beside me. She didn't say anything or even look in my direction, seeming so lost in her own thoughts I supposed she hadn't heard me.

"They're giving _Faust _again, and Carlotta is indisposed," I told her. "You will take her place as Marguerite. The world will hear you sing again, Christine."

She stayed silent a second longer, then asked, "How will my disappearance be explained?"

The question was posed innocently enough, but there was a sting of bitterness in her voice I didn't fail to notice. "You've needed time to yourself after your last performance," I said. "It was such an overwhelming experience for you that you needed to rest and recover your strength."

"If it was such an ordeal," she went on, "then how will I be able to continue after this next performance?"

"What do you mean, 'continue?'" I asked her. "After the performance, you'll return here with me."

She lapsed back into silence, her face draining of color.

"Christine?"

She drifted away from me like a specter in the night. I could no longer see her expression, but the shade of her voice was enough. "I don't want to."

For a moment, I was stunned. Didn't want to? She was a born singer, and easily the greatest singer alive since I had coached her. How could she not want to sing, to taste that freedom again? "What do you mean, you don't want to?" I demanded.

"I don't want to," she repeated. "I can't bear to be free for such a short time, only to be your songbird, then be locked back in my cage directly after."

I stood up but didn't go to her, staring at her as she turned her back to me. "Excuse me, Christine, but you will do what I want you to," I informed her, "and I want you to sing. You are my creation. I gave you your voice, and you'd be nothing if it weren't for me. Nothing! I built you up from the obscure and the ordinary into my masterpiece! You _will _sing!"

"I don't want to," she whispered again. "I'm—I'm not your puppet. I'm not."

I strode to her and spun her around to face me. "Puppet or not," I said, "you're still mine, and you'll do as I say or I'll—"

"You'll what?" she asked. There was no fear or defiance in the question, just a bald inquiry. "What more can you do to me? Kill me? I—I wish you would. Please, just kill me, please…"

"Why would I want to kill you, Christine? If I wanted you dead, you would have stopped breathing long ago."

"But you're still killing me," she insisted. "I'm dying slowly, but I'm still dying." Finally, she began to show some emotion, unspeakable sorrow filling her eyes. "Why do you keep me alive? Why do you still torment me? Why this cruelty?"

Cruelty? Torment? "You think you've suffered?" I demanded. "It's nothing to what was done to me. There is no hell I haven't been made to endure, Christine, so are you so much better than me that you deserve to be spared? Shouldn't the God you believe in have saved you already if you were?"

Tears began to fall down her face, but I carried on. "One of His own children, delivered into the hands of the Devil…but He doesn't care to rescue you, does He? Maybe you're past His care now, too stained by your sins to remain in His heart. Or maybe it's something else? Wasn't it always the purest, most innocent lambs slaughtered in sacrifice to His name? Maybe you were destined to be tribute to Satan—"

"Stop it!" she cried out, covering her ears with her hands.

"Seduced by the most wondrous promises," I pressed, "taken in by his words, beguiled and tempted until you walked right into his arms—"

"Stop!" She slid to her knees sobbing, and I bent down over her, lowering my voice yet speaking very slowly and clearly, "You've sold your soul, Christine Daaé; it belongs to me now. In exchange for a voice, you traded your life, and both are mine do to with as I please. You will sing, or I will be _very _unhappy." I straightened up, crossed the room again, and unearthed from my possessions an ornate dagger I had acquired during my travels in Persia. I returned to her and said, "If this doesn't please you, then here." I held out the weapon.

She stopped crying, looked at the dagger, then looked up at me, confused.

"Take it," I told her, shaking it at her. "Run it through my black, unfeeling heart and be rid of me for good.

"Then what, Christine? You'd still be trapped here for the rest of your life, and it would have been shortened considerably once the provisions ran out.

"Or, you can kill yourself. One forceful thrust—" I jabbed at her with the knife and she flinched back, "and your soul is free of this cruelty and torment! Or is it consigned to Hell for all eternity by suicide? I wouldn't know, I'm just a heathen up to my eyeballs in evil. Or maybe there are no such things as souls…no everlasting Paradise, no permanent damnation, and you're just…dead. Putrid, rotting flesh for the worms to feast on…

"Would you like to find out?"

She continued to stare at me, too dumbfounded to move.

I brandished the knife at her again. "Come on, I haven't got all day," I urged. "If neither of us is dying, we need to prepare you for your performance! Take it! Use it!" I hauled her to her feet and, my hand on the back of her neck, forced her to bend over my open coffin so she was halfway inside it, and I leaned into it with her. "This is what one of us has to look forward to," I said. "Such a small, cramped little box, after all, and so dark…so cold…so lonely…but that doesn't mean much once you're dead, right?"

She fought my grip on her, twisting away from me. "Let go, you're hurting me!"

Without releasing her, I scooped her up and tipped her inside completely. She let out a scream of shock that was cut short when I yanked the dagger free of its sheath and held its point against her breastbone. "Come on, then, Christine," I said, wrapping her hand around mine on the hilt. "Do it. Free yourself. Just one hard thrust…"

Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked up at me, and I could feel her hand shaking over mine. As far as I could tell, she was barely even breathing.

I took the knife away and returned it to the scabbard. "Get out of there," I ordered. "It's time we got back to work."

She lay there trembling in the casket, then she finally rose and climbed out. I didn't like to be so harsh with her…_but I have to, _I told myself. _If I show any weakness, she'll leave me forever._

* * *

_Christine  
_

I lay awake that night long after I'd gone to bed, unable and afraid to sleep. I'd been terrified to close my eyes since that night he came to my room, scared to death that if I drifted off again he'd come back.

He'd even stolen the innocence of sleep from me.

Slowly, as if I had all the time in the world, I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, lighting a lamp as I went. I looked for a long time at my reflection, seeing the shadows on my face dance and deepen in the flicker of the light. Was it only my imagination, or was there more darkness there than there should have been, more distortions transforming my image into one to be kept from the light for all time? How could I go back up there now? He had ruined me forever. If it was known where I had been these few weeks, who I had been with, and what had been done to me, I would be the one to bear the punishment. Yet no matter what anyone else could say to me, I alone knew how much I was really to blame. I had asked to come here. He should never have touched me, but I should never have given him the chance. I was here by my own choice.

I looked down at my body, and it didn't feel like mine anymore. It didn't belong to me, and it hadn't for a long time. With trembling hands, I took off my night things and looked back into the mirror. The body of a woman, claimed and sullied by a monster. I could barely stand to look, remembering the last time, and how he'd taken off his mask and made me lie down, and the feel of his groping hands and his cold lips. As before, I'd closed my eyes and let him get on with it, but there was that one horrible moment when I felt…his tongue…before I could stop myself, I'd opened my eyes again and saw that face between my legs. I looked away again, my ears ringing and my face hot with shame. A small cry escaped me, but I heard him order me be quiet and stop crying. I retreated into myself, seeking a place in my mind where this wasn't even real and hiding there until he was finished.

I hesitantly touched the places he'd touched, no longer at ease in my own skin. I felt filthy for even laying my hands where he had been, like he'd imparted some contagion that would eat away at me until I was withered and wasted. I put my hand to my throat, wishing with all the shattered remnants of my heart that I'd never been a singer, that I'd never attracted his notice, that I'd never even been born.

I wanted to wash it all away for good, to cleanse myself of this taint and be pure and whole again…

I went to the bathtub and turned on the tap, filling the tub with clean, warm water. It glimmered and glistened in the lamp light and the rushing sound of it was enough to chase the echoes of his voice from my memory. I reached in and ran my fingers through it, then stepped inside.

Resting my head back against the cool porcelain, I let the tub fill around me and the fluid embrace of the water shelter me as well as I could be sheltered. I reached up to turn off the tap, then lay back again contemplatively. Once upon a time, I would never have even considered this, but things had changed since then. Besides, what better way to set myself free than through the water? Like the River Jordan, it was salvation in itself.

I took one last breath, closed my eyes, and slid beneath its glassy surface.

Everything sounded so different under the water…outside noises were so faint and far off, yet the rhythm of my own heart resonated loud and clear, a perfect beat holding death at bay. _Just a few more minutes, _I told myself, _and it will all go away…just a few more minutes…_

My lungs began to burn with the need for air, but I resisted the impulse to rise and take a breath. There was nothing left up there. To breathe was to feel, and there was nothing left to feel but pain…and I was so weary of pain. I didn't want to breathe, and I didn't want to feel anything ever again, nothing but the warm blanket of water—

And the cold embrace of death.

I convulsed in the tub, nearly coming up at the memory of Erik's words as he offered me the dagger, but the thought of him strengthened my resolve again. It felt as though my chest was about to collapse, but I couldn't breathe…I couldn't breathe…I couldn't breathe!

Panic filled my mind, screaming at me to get out of the water, but I fought it with all my might. I filled myself with the memory of my father, playing his violin by our fireside, hearing the music fill my ears and seeing the love in his eyes when he smiled at me. _I'm coming, Papa…_

Then an image burst into my head, Papa ripped from the fireside and lying rotting and frigid in a lonely grave, his decayed hands folded over his beloved violin.

I opened my mouth to cry out and felt the stabbing pain of water rushing into my lungs. I couldn't do it! I _had _to breathe!

I pushed myself up out of the water, choking and gasping and sobbing. I scrambled out of the tub, slipping in my haste and falling to the floor with a loud smack. I coughed and coughed until my lungs were clear again, still hardly able to catch my breath, I was crying so hard. I didn't want to die. I wanted to be free, but death wasn't the escape I longed for. I wanted to live my life again, and regain myself, hoping somehow that in the midst of this agony I hadn't lost all that I was. I was so tired of the pain, but damn my heart that wouldn't let that spark of hope die completely. It was only a mere ember now, but it was still alive and burning.

That image was branded into my imagination, my father's moldering corpse clutching a violin that would never play again. Why, Papa? Why did you have to leave me here? You were supposed to be there for me, to protect me! You'd promised me an Angel…but that was only a lie after all. Why did you have to leave me with a promise you couldn't hope to keep? If it weren't for that promise, I wouldn't even be here! There would never have been a lie to believe in! I had wasted so much time chasing rainbows and searching for gold, but no more. I was finished with that now, ready to let go of dreams I should have outgrown long ago. I would no longer believe the lies anyone could tell me, and seek my own truth instead.

As for Erik, I would give him what he wanted one last time. I would sing, but I would do it for myself. I had no option no matter how I looked at it, but somehow, I could make it my choice…maybe even convince myself that the power of refusal was mine and that I could turn from him any time I chose. It was a hollow, desperate notion, and it only paved the road to my next decision. I would sing, then, however futile the attempt may be, I was going to escape him…or die trying.

After all, what else did I have to lose?


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, my darlings! Here we are again, and I hope you like it!**

_Erik_

There was something in the tense way she held her lips the next morning that told me there was more on her mind than she was willing to say. I was suspicious at first, but she slowly spoke, consenting to sing yet with an air of one whose hand is forced. And it was, really. I wanted her to sing and that was the end of it. It was my will that she be restored to her former sparkle and vitality. I wouldn't stand for any arguments to the contrary.

And so we spent that day reviewing her role, practicing for hours on end with only a little rest. I wouldn't have pushed her so hard the day before a performance, but such was my determination that she be ready. She didn't seem to care, still lacking her enthusiasm for the music but pursuing it like a machine, striving for it automatically and becoming almost mechanical in her perfection.

Where was her soul? She was still so hollow, a Grecian statue or a Minh vase, pristine and perfect to behold, but just as unfeeling and empty. I'd gotten my wish. She had become my most wondrous creation, the greatest artist in the world, yet it had cost her her heart. When she sang, she just sang. There was only emotionless brilliance in the finely-tuned instrument she had become.

I lay awake that night knowing a terrible wrong had been done. What had happened to her? Why did she give me this soullessness when I was trying to help her? She needed the chance to be herself again, and I was giving her that chance! Why did she scorn me like this?

I didn't trust her. The Christine I knew would have let nothing come between her and the song inside her. The woman I'd coached that day was a clockwork toy, its sole aim to mock me with a warped image of what I'd asked for. She would blame it on me somehow; she always did. I had crafted this most exquisite of musical boxes, so I shouldn't complain if the quality of the tune displeased me. I had created it with my own hands, after all…

That spiteful creature! Just let her sing tomorrow, then we would see.

* * *

_Christine_

I felt their stares and sensed their whispers as they recognized me, but I did my best to ignore them. They were bound to talk; I'd simply vanished without a trace for weeks, then showed up out of the blue just in time to be the prima donna again. Let them make up whatever explanations they liked, because they would never know the truth, and the truth was more terrible than anything they could imagine.

Erik had informed me he'd sent word prior to my reappearance that I had been ill, but was finally ready to return to the Opera. After bringing me back up from the cellars, he'd told me to go straight to the managers' office to speak with them, telling them I was healthy enough to sing tonight. He'd left me with one final warning: He was watching me, as he always did, and he would know every move I made.

Had he somehow guessed at my foolhardy, desperate attempt at freedom? Was it written so clearly in my eyes, or perhaps so audible in the way I spoke to him?

I felt like every glance I attracted would burn holes into my skin and let all my secrets spill out. My cast mates would know where I had been this whole time. The managers would see how I loathed having to sing and why I did it anyway. And my captor would understand my plan to run from him. He would stop me, and he would make me pay for daring to try. It was senseless, useless, and hopeless. I had no chance at success. I should have just drowned myself after all.

Clenching a fist decisively, I fought to think clearly. This could be my only chance to escape. If I didn't take it, I would spend the rest of my life as that animal's toy and strumpet, and the thought of that was more than I could face. I couldn't go on as I'd been existing. If there was even the slightest hope, I had to try. I had to.

I reached the managers' office in no time and found them in no way inclined to dispute my claims. They were too frantic to salvage the night's performance to question my halfhearted explanations, and rushed me off instead to prepare. I moved through the last rehearsal as if in a dream, then was shunted back to my dressing room to rest before curtain.

Shivers raced down my spine as I went inside. It was there that the net had been cast around me, and all the time I'd spent in there being taught by the Angel of Music rushed back to me, hard as I tried to ignore it. If I could do it all again, I would never have heeded that voice. I would have left the Opera and never looked back. I would never have let myself end up here again. Yet at the same time, I mourned the innocence of those days, spent in such a blissful dream that had felt too good to end.

My eyes were open now. Everyone must wake up eventually to ugly reality. All dreaming had earned me was this hell that I would do anything to escape, and it had cost me so much I could never get back. Erik was right about one thing, at least. Dreams were for children. I had been forced into adulthood sooner than I had been ready for it, and finding myself unable to cope with it, I had tried in vain to remain a little girl. Erik would make me less than a woman, less even than a child, if I couldn't be an adult at last. If I was to survive, I would have to grow up and start thinking.

Could I leave _before _the performance? Part of me said the sooner I got away, the better, but I made myself think it through. There was plenty of hustle and bustle already, but all the traffic was flowing _into _the theater, not out of it. After all the fuss that had been made upon my arrival, if I wasn't there when the curtain went up people would notice and start looking for me. And I knew instinctively Erik would be watching me more closely beforehand for any sign of defiance to his will. If he suspected I wouldn't sing as I'd been told, the game would be over before it began. If I was going to escape, it would have to be afterwards.

It would be easier to make myself lost in the crowd leaving the Opera, but I would have to hurry after the performance. I would need to rush to change out of my costume and don something that would blend in with the patrons, and under no circumstances could I return to my dressing room. Once outside, I would…find a carriage—no, wait! I would get word to one of the stagehands to hire one and have it waiting for me! No one would question that, but whoever I charged with the errand would have to keep silent about it. I would take the carriage meandering around the city through all the traffic to throw off any pursuers, then I would either take a train out of Paris or lie low in the city for awhile before leaving the city for good.

There were so many things that could go wrong with such a plan, but it was the best I could do.

I sat down hesitantly at the vanity table, trying to ignore the great mirror along the wall. I felt the presence of another in the room and sensed those demon eyes watching me from where their owner couldn't be seen. He was there, making sure I was following his orders.

_Why does he want me to sing at all? _I asked myself. It wasn't enough that he cripple me and dehumanize me behind closed doors anymore? He had to parade my degradation before the rest of the world, showing what a well-trained, obedient little lap dog I was? I hoped there was a Hell after all, just so I could have the satisfaction of knowing he would suffer for all eternity what he had forced me to suffer.

Setting those thoughts aside for the present, I focused my attention back on my escape. I couldn't wear Marguerite's costume out of the theater, and the clothes Erik had sent me back in, while fine enough, would still look out-of-place among the formal attire of the operagoers. I would have to find something, even if it was only a simple stole. Getting word to someone to have a carriage ready would be more complicated. How to do it without Erik seeing? A note was my only chance.

Assuming an air of melancholic boredom, I opened a drawer in the vanity and took out several sheets of writing paper, ink, and a pen. I doodled aimlessly while I composed the missive in my head, leaving enough room on one of the pages to write. Eventually I had the words in order, and I copied them out slowly, maintaining my façade of purposelessness.

_I shall require a carriage when I leave the Opera tonight. Be so kind as to hire one for me and have it waiting outside the Rotunda immediately after _Faust. _I'll see to it you are reimbursed for your efforts. Daaé._

There was nothing in there to arouse alarm or suspicion. It was a commonplace request, and all that could be gleaned from it was my own thoughtlessness in not making sure I had my own conveyance. If I was deemed simple or careless as a result, I didn't care. It was a small price to pay.

I carefully circled the words to emphasize them on the paper, then crumpled up all the used sheets, careful to keep the note separate. There was a knock on the dressing room door, and at my answer came in the woman to help me get ready for the performance.

Once, the thought of someone watching me as I undressed would have been brutal in its embarrassment, but after all Erik had already done to me it didn't matter. I knew he was still there somewhere, but modesty hadn't protected me thus far, so what was the use?

Something of my troubled thoughts must have shown on my face, for the woman asked me, "Is there something on your mind, mademoiselle?"

I shook my head. "Just jitters before the performance," I told her.

She nodded comprehendingly and finished adjusting my costume, and I happened to glance in the mirror. I was halfway between Christine and Marguerite, the wreck of a woman I had become and the tragic heroine I was meant to portray. Was it a coincidence, or was there something in it after all? Both seduced, entrapped, and betrayed, yet one of us found salvation after all. Did I dare to hope for the ending I was set to perform?

The woman began to dress my hair, saying, "It was such a surprise when you took off with no word, mademoiselle."

She had no idea.

"Why did you disappear on the heels of your performance?"

"My health," I replied readily.

"Goodness, you were gone for such a long time! Are you well again now?"

"If I were unwell, I wouldn't be singing tonight."

She understood the hint and didn't go on. She finished with my hair and said, "You're ready, mademoiselle."

I nodded and thanked her, heading for the door. I passed the wastebasket and tossed inside it the scraps of paper, keeping the one I needed clutched discreetly in my fist. I hoped with all my might that I had been subtle enough in the movement and that Erik hadn't noticed…

Marguerite doesn't sing in the first act and is only briefly onstage, so I had plenty of time to pass my note. I chose a place in the wings near a young man responsible for moving the sets around between scenes and stood silently, waiting for the orchestra to start. My earlier misgivings returned in full measure, and the hand clenched around the note began to shake. This would never work. I was going to fail. He would catch me, he would stop me, and the Devil only knew what he would do to me then.

I held the note tighter in a palm grown moist with sweat in my fear. Never mind what he might do to me if I didn't make it. I still had to try.

My heart was in my mouth, but I swallowed hard as the curtain went up and the show began. The first notes soared from the pit, enveloping me in a web cast by fate herself. Whatever happened tonight, there would be no going back. I could still forget everything, throw the note away and spend the rest of my life under his power in my own private hell. If I was so far gone I couldn't summon the courage to fight for my freedom, then that was all I could ever look forward to. If I wanted out, it was now or never.

I leaned slightly closer to the stagehand and asked him, "Will you see to this for me?" And I handed him the wad of paper. To any onlookers, it would appear I had just foisted off some garbage, but I gave him a hard, meaningful look and pressed the note firmly into his hand to be sure he got the message.

He looked a bit surprised, but he nodded. "Yes, mademoiselle."

I gave him an absent smile and drifted away from him. At a safe distance, I turned to see him open the paper and read what I had scribbled. His brow furrowed and he looked up and around for me, but I hastily turned my back to him. When I looked back, he had vanished.

A sigh escaped me. It was done. This phase of my plan was out of my hands and now I had to make it through _Faust. _I stood waiting for my cue, feeling as though the opera couldn't be over soon enough.

* * *

_Erik_

I had barely let her out of my sight since I turned her loose in the theater and I stayed within earshot of her at all times, watching her for the smallest sign of deception. I still didn't trust her, and was at my most anxious and alert when she spoke to the managers, but she gave me no cause for alarm. My suspicions were aroused when she reached her dressing room and brought out paper and pen, but she only appeared to be sketching to pass the time. She left as the performance drew closer and I followed her from shadow to shadow, keeping her in sight as she made it to the wings beside the stage. I ascended into the flies above her and watched as she spoke to a stagehand and—did I just see that? Did she give him a piece of paper? The action looked innocent enough, but I knew better than anyone how far from innocent she was and saw guile in the gesture. She moved away and the man flattened the ball of paper and…was that a note? He walked away, and I set off after him.

When he was far enough away from the reach of help, I sprang from the darkness in an ambush. I clapped a hand over his mouth and placed the other one at the back of his head, and gave an energetic twist fueled by my growing anger. With a loud crack, his neck broke and he collapsed without a sound.

I reached down and pried the note from his fist, reading it so quickly and with such a lack of focus I had to scan it again and again to be sure I understood it. When at last I was certain of its meaning, I threw it aside in a rage.

The flames of my fury roared more ferociously than ever, in a blaze that would consume her world and burn her until the end of time. That stupid, stupid child thought she was going to leave me? Did she think I would ever allow that? It was this kind of foolishness that had gotten her into trouble to start with! Did she ever learn?

She would this time, God damn her. She would learn well. An Angel of Music had taught her to sing, and an angel of vengeance would mete out the just retribution for her treachery.

* * *

_Christine_

When the time finally came for me to sing, I couldn't believe I was actually so bold as to taunt him as I did. All through our practice the day before, I had given him soulless perfection, seeing how it needled him yet unable to try anymore. Onstage, I didn't even attempt that, singing with all the insipid lack of skill the average ingénue possessed. What was I thinking? I wanted to revenge myself upon him the only way I could, to see his pet and protégée embarrass him when he wanted her to perform her circus act for him. If he caught me, he would be livid that I had defied him after all.

If he caught me, I'd have worse things to worry about. I was being stupidly reckless, but I couldn't stop myself. _How does it feel? _I asked him as I sang, _to be so shamed and disappointed? This is what you've done to me, you evil bastard. Does it please you now?_

All my hatred, my anger, my anguish rose to the surface as I carried on, making it harder and harder to stay in control. Despite my effort to remain mediocre, the voice of the diva, the voice he gave me, threatened to break through. No, I couldn't! I couldn't give him the satisfaction! I _wouldn't! _But Marguerite's pain became my own, her heartache and her betrayal and utter abandonment by one she had loved so dearly. Erik had all but destroyed me, and Papa had left me to the wolves in sheep's clothing, the devils wearing the guise of angels. I couldn't stand it! I hated them both, and still I couldn't let go of the hope that had driven me, hoping that I could find a way out of this nightmare! There had to be a way!

It all became a blur, and before I knew it, the Prison Act was upon me and it was time for the final trio. The lines dividing pretend and reality vanished, and I was in my cell, waiting for judgment to be passed upon me. There was nothing left of me and no hand could save me. So finally, I let go and plunged myself into it, because that was what Marguerite did and that was what I had been taught since childhood.

I cried out to Heaven.

"Protect me, oh God!

Oh God, I implore thee!"

I couldn't explain it, but it became my own cry of desperation, calling upon God and all His angels and throwing my soul into His hands, pleading with Him one last time to break the chains around me. All my thoughts were suspended, cast aside in favor of unalloyed feeling that filled me up and tore me apart. Tears streamed from my eyes, but I couldn't stop singing. It was too late to come back from that infinity.

"Angel! Shining Angel!

Bear my soul to Heaven's bosom!

Just God, I surrender myself to Thee!

King God, I am Thine! Forgive me!"

There was one moment that held life and death, eternity and evanescence, salvation and damnation. I knew wild, unchecked fear and terrible, unyielding hope, and in that moment I was neither alive nor dead.

"Angel unsullied, shining angel!"

Darkness descended upon me and the earth vanished beneath me, and I fell through an abyss further and further from the light above. I had no time to register what had happened until two arms caught me and held me in a vicious, unforgiving grip of steel, and there was a cold, cruel laugh in my ear.

"Thus your suitor calls you,

And your heart trusts him!"

The voice of an angel, the voice of the Devil…I tried to scream but he held a pitiless hand over my mouth and carried me away back to Hell.


	10. Chapter 10

**This thing has given me so much trouble I'm seriously debating just blowing it sky high, but I'm out of dynamite. LOL Have at it, folks!**

_Erik  
_

I was half-mad with rage, but all I could do was laugh and laugh as I took her back down to my house. Let it become her tomb! Let it be our burial crypt, where no one would come to mourn us and lay flowers on our graves! We would die there together, because she would never see the light of day again and I was never going to let her out of my sight! I could hardly stay upright, lost in my fit of deranged hilarity, but I still dragged her along behind me, breaking off every now and then to sing to her once more. "Do you not hear, O Caterina my sweetheart, my voice and my footsteps?" I let out another cackle. "Do you hear my footsteps, O Christine? They echo so loudly down here! So loudly!" I yanked her by the arm to make her go faster and she cried out as she tripped. "Come on now, hurry up!" I taunted. "We must hurry home, my sweet! Home sweet home! Where your heart and your treasure lay, and where they are always overjoyed to see you! I'm so happy to see you home again, my darling!"

"Please!" she pleaded, nearly screaming it out. "Please no, don't take me back there, please! Kill me instead, I beg of you!"

"Why would I kill you, Christine, when I'm so glad to have you back again?" I swooped her up in my arms and steered her around in a manic waltz, still laughing hysterically. "You wanted to leave! You wanted to leave without saying goodbye!"

"Stop!" she shrieked, struggling against me. "Stop! Let me go!"

"Well, now you're never leaving again," I told her, coming to a halt and no longer laughing. "Never again. That was a heartless trick, Christine, trying to hurt me and break my heart like that when you know I love you so much. It won't happen again, do you hear me?" I seized her by the shoulders and leaned down close to her face. "You will never do that again, do you understand? You won't leave me, you stupid woman! You won't, because I won't let you!"

"No!" she wailed. "No, you can't! Oh please, no!"

"Shut up!" I shouted. "All your begging and sniveling won't save you! Did you think I was going to let you leave? Did you really?"

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, ashen with terror.

I chuckled again. "I haven't decided yet," I told her. "But it has to be something special, so you learn your lesson…it has to be very special indeed…though I don't know why I bother! You're never leaving here again!" I set off towards the lake and forced her into the boat, still laughing. I couldn't see any humor in it, but I couldn't help myself. "You're never leaving again!" I repeated. "And from now on, I'll be watching you every second of every day! I'm not letting you out of my sight for one instant! The supplies down here will last for a few weeks, and then we'll simply starve to death! You get to die after all; isn't it splendid?"

She lunged to dive off the side of the boat but I caught her and flung her back. "That's cheating, Christine. You're breaking the rules again!"

I expected more pleading, but she let me down. Instead, she hunched forward with her head pressed to her knees and sobbed so hard the violent motion jarred the boat. I rowed us to shore and dragged her up the bank, and she suddenly came alive again, thrashing and struggling with all the madness of a jailed lunatic. It took a considerable effort to restrain her, but I finally threw her over my shoulder and carried her into the house.

"Do stop screaming like that," I told her, raising my voice over her renewed noise. "It won't do you any good. In fact, it's only irritating me further." I dropped her to the floor and the impact knocked the air from her lungs, silencing her for the moment. Finally! Some peace!

I crouched beside her and watched her fight to breathe again, her eyes wide and filled with crazed desperation. "It seems you've forgotten how to do as you're told," I informed her, keeping my voice level and clear. "So you and I are going to spend some time refreshing your memory, and you are going to learn once and for all to do _exactly _as you are told. Is this in any way unclear to you, Christine?"

She hid her face in her arms and, incensed, I snatched a handful of her hair and forced her head up. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, damn you! Have I made myself plain?"

She didn't speak, still gasping for breath.

"Answer me!" I shouted.

"Y-y-yes—Erik," she gasped.

"Good." I released her and reached to unbuckle my belt.

"No!" she screamed. "Not again, please, not again!"

"Be quiet," I ordered, "and get up on your knees."

She bolted like a deer that has spotted a hunter, tearing from the room in a frenzy and nearly tripping over her own feet. I heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Why bother?" I called out, starting after her. "You and I both know you can't escape, Christine, and there's nowhere for you to hide! Come back here now, or it will only be worse for you!"

There was a commotion in my bedroom, and I set off to investigate. She was turning it upside down, searching through my belongings for something. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, but with a cry she drew the Persian dagger and placed the point to her chest.

I leaped forward to wrestle the blade from her and she turned on me, lunging so fast I barely had time to dodge the blow. I caught her arm and twisted it back, and she shrieked with pain, letting the knife fall from her hand.

I bent down and picked it up, never once letting go of her. "So it's pain you want, is it?" I asked. I forced her hand open and sliced a gash into her palm, hearing her scream so loud it made my hair stand on end. "Do you like how that feels?" I cut into her arm, careful not to hit any veins. "Is this good for you, my pet? Is this what you want?" I made my third cut on her shoulder, ripping through her sleeve to the flesh beneath and seeing the blood stain the fabric.

"What if I was to make you as hideous as me?" I demanded, tearing off my mask and pressing the flat of the knife to her cheek. "Do you think you would like that?" I took her cut hand and held it to my face, smearing my skin with her blood. The smell of it filled my nostrils and the taste of it was salty and sharp on my lips, and like a hound on the hunt it drove me mad.

"I'll tell you what," I said, the words coming in a low snarl, "I'll just give you a little taste for now, just something to think about." With that, I dragged the tip of the knife along her temple, leaving a long, thin scratch. She gasped loudly and tried to pull away, but I threw an arm around her and pressed her to my body. "I'll let you decide whether you want to start doing as I tell you, or whether you want to learn your lesson the hard way. Doesn't that sound nice? I'm leaving it up to you! The choice is yours, Christine!" I raised the dagger between our faces and saw her eyes flick back and forth from me to it. "You just think long, hard and carefully about it, my pretty one."

I set off with her back through the house, pushed her into her room, and shut the door. I then examined the blade of the dagger, seeing the dark red against the gleam of the steel. I ran a finger through the blood and licked it off ponderously.

What answer would she give me? I was curious, and I honestly didn't know which would please me more. She started screaming again, so I went back into my room and went to the organ, playing a _Dies Irae _that nearly brought the ceiling crashing down upon my head until I was sure at last I had drowned her out.

* * *

_Christine_

Oh God! Oh God! I couldn't stand it anymore! I just wanted out!

I paced my room frenetically, going faster and faster until I was running from one wall to the next, nearly insane with the need to escape. I couldn't do it! I couldn't face it! To have freedom in my grasp only to be snatched back to this hellhole! Oh God, no! I was so close! So close! It was only a curtain call away! I was nearly free of him, and demon that he was, he let me believe I could escape at last before crushing my plans for good! In what dream had I thought such a plan could possibly work? Was I so stupid as to think it even stood a chance? Was I cursed to be such a fool for all time? Surely I'd had time enough to think of something more foolproof and less ridiculous than handing a note to a stagehand—my stomach dropped. The stagehand. Erik had learned of my plan, and the only hint he could have gotten was from that note. There was no mercy in his heart, and I was afraid to guess what he might have done to my poor accomplice but knew only too well what must have happened. Oh God, I'd gotten him killed…I was hardly any better than what I was trying to run from…an accessory to murder. That thing had made me his device to harm even more people! What crimes he committed through me could only make me as guilty as him!

I couldn't get his song out of my head, mocking, cruel, and merciless, turning the voice I had loved best to hear into a weapon just as deadly as that dagger. There was no hiding from it! It was in my mind and my soul like a malicious spirit from Hell, bent on destroying me! I would never be free of it! Free! Free to see the sun and stars in the sky and feel the wind through my hair! Free of this living grave forever and any chance to heal as best I could from the damage to my soul! Now I was as stained and filthy as he was, and nothing could save me. I had tried my best, I had pleaded and prayed, and I had called on God for His mercy and deliverance, but He'd turned His back on me again! He didn't care how I bled and cried! He'd abandoned me, leaving me to rot in these chains I wore. Damn Him! Damn His mercy and goodness when He refused to see me through! I needed a savior, and He'd only stood back and watched me suffer. What good was my faith when He rejected it and spat in my face? Worthless! Worthless as a pretty song and a free romp! Worthless…like me…

I pressed my hands to my face in anguish, and the cuts he'd given me stung and bled, reminding me of the decision I was to make. Either submit again and endure those horrors all over, or let him torture and mutilate me until I gave in anyway or lacked the resistance to fight him. Neither! I wanted neither! I'd lost all hope of what I really wanted, and he was crazed enough to make good on his threats. We would both die down here and there was no telling what he would do to me before it was over. I remembered the savage, bestial light in his eyes when he wiped my blood across his monstrous face, seeing anew how much of a monster he was. The face was nothing to the creature that bore it. I had weeks ahead with him before death claimed me for its own, weeks of torment, torture, and his sadistic games. A few cuts would only be the beginning. Death would come as a blessing.

A scream tore from me and I dropped to my knees on the floor, ripping at my hair. I tried to will myself to stop breathing, for my heart to cease its weary rhythm at last and leave all this forever. But my body betrayed me again, and still I lived! Still I suffered! God was laughing at me again, not even granting me the grace to just stop living! It wasn't even living anymore, not like this! I was caught in limbo between eternities, ensnared in the webs of time and being and watching that fat, ugly spider of mortality continue to evade me when I longed to surrender and would have joyously embraced that lethal blow. _Why? Why can't I just die? Just let me die! Please, let me die!_

I staggered to my feet again, blind through the film of tears in my eyes. I wasn't going to wait for death to take me. I was going to run into its arms like the good little slut Erik would have me be for him. It would be nice to be someone else's whore for a change, and doubly satisfying to cheat that son of a bitch of whatever atrocity he had planned for me. I didn't have the strength to go through it all again, not the fear and the agony and the rape and the maiming. My God, what had he done to me? I didn't even know what I was anymore, let alone who I was! I couldn't stand the taste of this pain and hatred. I hated him for what he'd done to me, and I hated myself for falling into his trap, and I felt as though my soul was already dead with the toxicity of it. Hell itself would never be worse than what I'd already been through, if Hell even existed. _No, _I realized, _it does…it's right here, and the Devil reigns supreme. There are no saviors down here, and God really doesn't exist._

With a cry of agonized rage, I threw myself against the bedroom wall, striking my head as hard as I could. The blow dazed me and there was an explosion of pain, but I refused to back down this time, letting out another scream and slamming my head to the wall again. White lights danced in front of my eyes and it took all of my willpower to stay on my feet, but still I carried on, feeling skin break, blood flow, and bone crack—or was that my imagination?

Was I still screaming? Was I still standing? I couldn't tell if my blows were losing strength or if I was slipping out of touch…my head hurt so bad…my body felt so heavy and burdensome…I felt something solid against me and had no idea if it was the wall or the floor…Was that enough? Had I done enough damage? I wanted to be sure…but I couldn't move…I couldn't move…

The room faded in and out of focus, going from black to gray to white and back again…I saw him come in, then a flash as the knife dropped from his hand…he knelt down beside me…_so I _am _on the floor…_I was dimly aware he'd lifted my head up off the ground and saw those yellow eyes invading my soul again…was I still alive?

One more tear fell from my eyes…_No, I can't be…_then darkness took control and everything around me disappeared…


	11. Chapter 11

**So sorry to test your ****patience so badly, so I hope this makes up for it. I nearly went gaga trying to get it juuust right. And an enormous shout-out to xxInspireMexx for smacking the stupid out of me when I wasn't up to par! :)  
**

_Erik_

_Oh my God…_

I was paralyzed the instant I saw her, lying on the floor, her face covered in blood…and it wasn't mine this time.

The dagger fell out of my hand, my fingers unable to hold onto it anymore. I was—terrified, yes, terrified to go near her. My God, what had she done? I cast a brief glance around the room, seeing it as dismantled and disturbed as if a wild animal had been set loose inside it, and I heard the echoes of her earlier screams where now there was only silence. But what shocked me was the bloodstain on the wall, as high up as she was tall.

I understood with the forceful suddenness of being run over by a stampeding horse. She had beaten herself to death.

_Oh my God!_

I dropped to my knees at her side, numbness clashing with shock and horror. I couldn't believe it of her, it was just so…it wasn't like her. It was more like something I would expect from that wild animal that had destroyed the room…a crazed, manic creature gone mad. I cradled her head ever so gently and slowly raised her head up off the floor, her hair still clinging to the carpet where it was soaked with her blood. Her eyes were open and unfocused, and I stared down into them, waiting for it to sink in at last—

A tear spilled out onto her cheek, and my heart nearly stopped. She was still alive! I looked again at the wounds, like something out of a nightmare. The blood had grown sticky to the touch and once again its stench rose to my nostrils, smelling of death and damnation…I put my fingertips to the gash on her head, feeling where the skin had broken. What madness must have come upon her to drive her to this? It was a line of reasoning I was afraid to follow, fearful of the answers. I laid my cheek against her forehead and felt the warm, tacky blood against my skin…always blood between us…the final, incriminating proof…

Proof of what? Her own insanity? I could still see the cuts I'd given her in my own madness, but they were nothing to what she'd done to herself. She had done this, this was her own doing—but if she'd gone insane, didn't I have my share of responsibility? Had I pushed her to it? She had pushed me, after all, pushed me more times than I could count and made me lay hands on her, set the edge of a knife to her skin, follow her to her bedroom—

No, her actions were her own. She'd chosen this; it wasn't my fault!

I couldn't look away from all that blood, seeing it begin to congeal and clot. If this was her fault, didn't that mean that what I had done was my fault? Didn't it point to my own shortcomings and weakness? Reason said it should. She made me weak, yes, but I responded every time with strength, refusing to bend and allow her to break me to her will—

Refusing to hear her cries and pleadings.

_God, stop it!_

To break free of my spiraling thoughts, I set to work tending her wounds, washing away the blood, stitching the gashes, and bandaging the whole mess. She was unconscious through most of it, but she cried out insensibly at times, in some kind of pain I couldn't fathom. It always came so easily to hurt her, to make her cry. It had always been so easy, took so little effort as though I was born to it, as though we were meant to be tormentor and captive.

I couldn't stand to look at her, the sight of her bringing its own pain. She had tried to leave me, and I didn't want her to leave me. I just wanted her to love me! She was trying to punish me for what I'd done, that's what this was! This was to spite me! She didn't love me and she never would, but that wasn't enough for her! She wanted to hurt me more, and she'd guided my hand in creating this monster that I couldn't endure anymore! She wasn't the Christine I'd loved. That woman had vanished the instant she'd stolen my mask, and I hated the villainess that lay as if dead before me! It was her fault! It _had _to be her fault, it just had to be! Because if it wasn't, then that meant…

It couldn't be both ways. She couldn't be responsible for her actions _and _be forced to them at the same time—and neither could I. I had either chosen my path or been made to take it, but which was it? If she had decided to harm herself, then I had harmed her of my own free will, and I couldn't stomach that. If she had driven me to what I'd done, then I had driven her to what she'd done, and that was equally repulsive. Either way, I was culpable somehow. It was as plain as the bloodied walls and floors and as sharp and cruel as the dagger that lay forgotten.

But…no, no, it couldn't be that way. I couldn't hurt her, I loved her too much!

And yet I _had _hurt her. It had been so easy to lie to her, steal her away, cut her open, and rape her. My stomach clenched at the bare truth in the words, but no matter what words I used the actions were still the same. It was so easy to hurt her, and so hard to…

No, I couldn't say it! This was what she'd wanted, to break me as I'd broken her! I'd broken her, broken her beyond repair, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. This game hadn't just cost her her heart as I'd feared. It had cost her spirit, her life…possibly even her soul. There was no way she could survive this, and I'd known all along she wouldn't. I had destroyed her, just as I was too blind to see I would. What I'd seen that night onstage was too terrible to comprehend. It was the canvas of the Mona Lisa slashed to ribbons, the rose window of Notre Dame shattered to dust. It was my true masterpiece, to have taken one of God's children and twist and maim her into a creature marked by Satan.

Still, I fought it, refusing to accept it. I couldn't be such a monster! I couldn't if I loved her!

But again, nothing could change the actions. I couldn't have done those things if I loved her. I _had _done them…it must not be love. It was an obsession and a need to possess as dark and evil as the powers of Hell. And somehow, I'd known that all along as well. I knew what I was doing and I knew how heinous it was, but it didn't stop me. I didn't even care. And that was the greatest evil of all.

She stirred again, moaning in her sleep, and I covered my ears to block the sound. It was a malediction in the stillness, the indictment of God and the conviction of the Devil. I would burn in Hell for what I had done, and no power in Heaven would come to my rescue. There was nothing left of the old Christine, the innocent child who had seemed as full of life as if she really was touched by angels. There was only this gargoyle, reshaped by a fallen, false angel into something that was in its essence as ugly as he. I was a demon god in my own hell, and I had created her in my own image.

I slowly went to her once more and my hands shook as I stroked her cheek. Even after the evil had come upon us, I had dreamed so many times of kissing her. I had never known something as simple and miraculous as a kiss, and though I had taken so much from her already, I had never tried to claim that. It was so foolish, but I could never bring myself to go through with it. I'd felt no remorse over forced coupling, but I couldn't bear to steal her kiss, fearing that to meet such perfection with such hideousness would mar it for all time.

I had done far worse to her already. What should a meaningless touching of lips matter? And if it was meaningless, why did I care?

She looked as beautiful as the corpse she already was on the inside, the corpse she would soon become. She was still so lovely, despite the way fear and pain had marked her and despite the injuries she'd inflicted. Slowly, and with mounting trepidation, I leaned over her and pressed my lips to her forehead, then searched her face again.

It was unchanged. There was nothing more I could do to destroy what I had adored.

* * *

_Christine_

The one thought that rang clearly through the stupor was that I had failed. I was still alive. I had tried so hard to leave it all behind in death, but I still hadn't tried hard enough. Always inadequate, always a disappointment, never living up to what was expected of me. Never more than a disaster waiting to strike.

I felt caught between what was supposed to be and what I longed for, unable to live as I should have been able to or to die as I wanted. I hadn't done enough to kill myself, and I refused to waken back to my nightmare, not if I could help it. I knew Erik was still there, as surely as I felt pain lancing through me with every throbbing pulsation. He was always there, and I could never escape him.

I had to ask myself again, why had this happened to me? Why was I the one singled out for this torment? Awful bitterness rose in my spirit as I asked, _What made me so special? _Was I just an easy target, an obvious fool, a pitiful loner no one cared to see hurt? And now what would happen to me? Was Erik just going to stand and watch me as I lay there half-dead?

_Please, no, _I pleaded. _Do what I couldn't. Finish what you started and just destroy me for good. Even you couldn't be so cruel as to leave me like this. Do it, and I'll forgive you…_

The thought of dying slowly terrified me. I didn't want to suffer more than I already had. I wanted it over with, I wanted to forget everything and just leave it behind. He was going to kill us anyway, so why couldn't he do it quickly?

_Set fire to this whole place, for all I care. That's all that's missing from this hell, anyway. Just burn it, burn it all…_

Baptized in flame on my way to my eternal reward—a far cry from my bathtub, but it would still suit my purpose.

My hatred flared stronger the longer I waited. Why didn't he do it? Was he that afraid of losing his hold over me that he had to control my suspended existence, even? He couldn't have a better opportunity of proving who had the power! It had always been his, from the moment he first spoke to me as the Angel of Music. I had believed him so easily and waltzed into his arms to land here, where the sun never rose and hope was just an empty word that had no meaning. A wiser, stronger person would have resisted, but not me, and I had earned what I'd paid for in blood. If the price was higher than I'd wanted to pay, there was nothing I could do about it. It was done.

But it _wasn't _done. It wouldn't be done until I was dead, and still I lived—and still he denied me! What more could he possibly do to me to want to keep me like this? Why wouldn't he finish it?

_Finish it! _I begged. _Kill me, set me free, and I swear it, I'll forgive you!_

I hated myself for saying it, and yet I knew how much I meant it. I wanted him dead for what he had done to me, and I was tired of living the way he'd forced me to. To finish the job would be the single kindest thing he could possibly do for me, and for that I honestly felt I could forgive him for everything else.

But then I remembered why such a kindness was necessary, and forgiveness faded away into darkness. Death was a mercy I would never have needed if not for him; if not for him, I could have lived. It was because of him that such measures had to be taken. I felt that bitterness rise again at the realization, and knew a tide of regret for what had been stolen, every hope and dream, every chance I could have had. He'd stripped me of all I had been and left behind only a feral shade of what was once human…a creature like himself.

The spark of hatred that had been festering within me blazed to life again, and the sickness in my soul took on a new feeling, no longer of despair, but a desperate, driving thirst for vengeance. Imagine, a stupid little girl like me harboring such lust for revenge…but I wasn't a stupid little girl anymore. I wasn't even Christine. Pure instinct ruled my damaged soul and I knew no logic, no reason, only a burning hunger to revisit upon him what he'd forced upon me.

Thoughts of death were behind me, at least thoughts of mine. I hoped I survived; I was hell-bent on it. This creature that I had become craved blood, and not my own. I wanted to seize control again, and I wanted to look him in the eye and see the look on his face when I struck back at last. There were stories of fearsome goddesses who walked among the mortal world, exacting punishment and retribution on the evil and the guilty. I was no goddess, but I had a similar purpose. There was no one on earth who would avenge what I had suffered, no one but me. It would be the greatest justice, the sweetest victory, and the most beloved release I could ask for in a world where such things didn't exist. It was my last chance, and I was determined with a crazed intensity that this time, it would be the only chance I needed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank God, it's over! So so sorry to keep everyone waiting, but being the finale, this had to (pardon my French) kick serious ass. I kicked my own in the process, but I survived! **

**And once again, a million thanks to xxInspireMexx for her amazing job as beta. We both know I could never have done this on my own! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!**

**And now, on with the show!**

_Christine_

My consciousness was like a swirling fog, gathering and receding in moments of clarity and moments of disorientation. I knew I needed to rest and regain my strength, but I felt lost, like a ship at sea in the midst of a hurricane. There was no lightning, no rain, and no waves, but I had no sense of direction and was left to cling to my desire like a compass.

Dreams and distortions passed through my mind, both memories and nightmares intermingling in a parade that made me heartsick and horrorstruck in turns. I was a little girl again, playing games with my father and listening to his violin; all the ghosts and goblins from the fears of my childhood rose up in accord and chased me through the dark; I was making my debut onstage as Marguerite; a face like death reanimated, a face crafted by Satan, leered at me and laughed maliciously as I sought and escape I knew I'd never find. They roiled and twisted and spun themselves into a web of delight and terror, never settling in one place for very long…

There was a room, lit by candles that gave off a pale, ghostly light. Hazy shapes all around me began to take on greater definition, some larger and some smaller but all with distinct form, all covered with stained, dirty canvas…

I slowly walked to the nearest one, gliding forward as if pulled along by a chain. I raised my hand to the canvas, its texture rough and grimy against my skin, and pulled it aside, watching a cloud of dust swirl into the air as the fabric floated to the floor.

A glass stood before me, a window into a room like the one I stood in. I could see a woman standing on the other side, wearing a white bridal gown and carrying a bouquet of red roses. A long lace veil covered her face like a mask, fluttering slightly as if caught in a breeze. I raised my hand to touch the glass, and she did too. I drew away again, and she copied the movement.

Not a window…a mirror, like the one in my dressing room. The woman dressed as a bride was me.

I caught the lower edge of the veil and threw it back over my head.

A scream tore from my throat, horrified at what I saw. It wasn't my face, but that of a corpse, half the flesh rotting away, the teeth bared and gnarled in an exposed jaw, and the eyes bulging from bare sockets. Maggots gnawed on the hand clutching the roses, roses that were now blackened and withered. The veil was torn and shredded, little more than ragged threads on top of my head. And the dress, so pristinely white, was now crimson with blood, spreading like a flower over the bodice and dripping steadily from the hem.

The roses fell from my dead fingers, shriveled petals scattering at my feet. I reached out to another canvas and tugged, exposing only another mirror and another monster. One by one I uncovered them all until I felt as though I was in a vast cavern filled with these cadaverous horrors, reflections of a mutilated, diseased soul—

I drew myself out of the vision, using all the strength I possessed. Terror still clouded my mind and the sight of that creature ate away at my thoughts until I thought I'd lose my senses with it. That was what I was. That was what he had made me. Walking death, like him…and death was what he would find. He had created that thing I'd seen in the mirror, and I would make certain he paid for his crime.

My will to live was made of iron, unbendable and unbreakable. I wouldn't succumb to my injuries. They hadn't killed me when I intended them to, and I wouldn't let them now that I was set on survival. In defiance of death, I would live and deliver it to my captor in full measure. I bided my time, marshaling my strength and fantasizing the moment when I rose up and attacked. His desire had overpowered me before; well, now mine would overpower him. For any lesser motive I would never have a hope of success, but I'd gone mad with hate and the need for justice. I could sense it pulsing through me, lending me determination and mania I would use to fuel my rage. It was all I held to, the force of it at once frightening and exhilarating, and I surrendered to it, embracing it as passionately as a lover. Justice, revenge…revenge, justice…it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.

I could feel my strength returning, slowly but enough to send a thrill through my mind. I awoke to consciousness in small doses but feigned my comatose state every time, my periods of alertness lengthening little by little. I longed to strike, but I must be patient and wait until I was ready, in body as well as spirit. He stayed near me; I could sense him when I slept and could hear his movements when I was awake. _Soon, _I promised myself, _soon…_

There was no thought for the future beyond what was imminent. At the moment, I didn't have a care for what came after, be it my escape or my death. I was walking a narrow tunnel with only my desired end in mind, and everything else could happen as it would. For the time being, there was no future. There was only vengeance.

Vengeance. I would live for nothing less.

* * *

_Erik_

Morality had been thrust upon me too late. I knew what I should do, but I was already in too deep. I should let her go, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Even if I worked up the strength of will to set her free, I knew I would end by doing everything in my power to get her back. I had stolen my claim on her, but I still had more right to her than anyone else, and even the thought of her belonging to no one at all was repugnant. I knew how disgusting this need to have her was, but it was all I had left. There was no chance at love, only possession and an insatiable need to consume.

All I could do was stand there and stare at her, wondering where this crossroads would lead. I wasn't fool enough to think it would carry on as it had, but I kept the veil of ignorance over my eyes. I served an even crueler master than she did. She had fought my power and it had brought her to this, but the strength of my obsession would turn on me before long. Sooner or later, she would destroy me.

I waited and waited for her to wake up and wondered if she ever would. I wanted to speak to her and had no idea what I wanted to say. It remained a crippling, maddening truth, just as I feared from the beginning: This destruction was wrought by me and through my own actions, my own free will. I couldn't even begin to heal the damage to her fractured soul, but still, I needed to tell her. I needed to let her know that it would never let me go, this iron fist around my heart that reminded me of the atrocities I had committed and the monstrous wrongs I had done her. I would have an eternity to serve in Hell as payment, and it was a just wage.

I wished I could free us both somehow from our torment and the demons that shadowed us, but we were at a standstill. I could neither correct the harm nor release her, condemned to spend a lifetime seeing the consequences of my villainy before me and still incapable of granting her the freedom that should be hers. It was a circle that would never end and a chain that would never break, forged in my own evil.

Sleep came as I kept my vigil, but there truly is no rest for the wicked. I saw my crimes replayed before my eyes as though I was a spectator, knowing where it all would lead and incapable of influencing some kind of change. I watched as she wasted away in agony and perished at last, a price too high and paid too late. I was there as the monster who had done so much to hurt her laid her in a cold, damp grave miles away from the sun, where no grass would grow and not even a headstone would acknowledge that she had lived and died. It was crystal clear when the monster finally broke, giving into the insanity that was his reward in life then falling into the fires that awaited him in death. I saw it all as though it had already happened and knew beyond doubt it would come to pass after all.

I awoke with a start just as she was beginning to stir. My heart faltered for a moment, watching her and hardly daring to hope, but she finally opened her eyes. She slowly glanced around the room, her expression frozen and dead, until finally she came to fix her blue-eyed gaze upon me.

Words seemed to die in my throat. The desire to speak was tempered by the absence of something to say. What was there I could say? Sorry? What was the use of that? I'm no better than an animal, if not the Devil himself? We both knew that already. She was free to leave if she wasn't too badly injured? Never. Even after what I had already put her through, I would see us dead before I let her walk away.

So what, then?

"You're awake."

She didn't say anything, but continued to stare at me.

I paused again, then said, "No doubt you intended otherwise, but I'm sure you'll recover in time."

Still she was silent, and there was something in her eyes that I had no idea how to interpret, troubling me more than I cared to let her know.

The silence held the weight of worlds, at once static and intense, as though we sat in the eye of a storm waiting for the calm to pass us by and unleash hell once again. I knew the responsibility was upon me to say something, something futile and meaningless, but _something._

"Christine," I said, "I—I want to say—" Say what? There was nothing I could say. "I can't make excuses anymore. Maybe this is no more than I deserve, but you…I did you wrong by bringing you here."

Slowly, she raised herself up on her arms and sat up. "Is this supposed to be an apology?" she asked, her voice flat and unyielding. "It's just one more lie out of all you've already told me."

"It's no lie," I assured her, but I knew she would never believe me. "I'm sorry for what you have suffered. For what you have become. "

"But not for what you've done," she cut in. "I don't care, Erik. Your words mean nothing and your apology is worthless. I already told you, there is nothing you could say or do to change how I hate you."

I looked away from her at last. "Please, just listen to me—"

"No, _you _listen. I hate you, Erik, and an eternity in Hell is too good for you after what you've done to me. You _destroyed_ me. I begged you to end my misery, and you laughed in my face. I tried to run away from you, and you stole me back to torture me again. I did what I could to end my own pain, and you refused to just let me die. You couldn't stand the thought of losing your control over me." Something in her eyes shifted, something I had never seen there before that made anger look like the most tender caress and held still more disaster in its fingers. "I hate you, and the word alone is nowhere near strong enough to say just how much."

"I know, Christine." The words were hardly even a murmur. "I know. I just wish I could set you free, but I can't let you go. I just can't. I'm sorry."

"Too little, too late." I felt a backbone of steel and the bite of venom in her speech. That look in her eyes grew, spreading across her face until I could barely recognize her. This truly was a wild animal before me, backed into a corner and ready to fight to the death to defend itself. "You can't give back what you've already taken from me, and a sorry won't fix it. We both know you wouldn't let me go if it meant death. You know it as well as I do."

I sighed heavily. "Yes," I agreed. "I know. But Christine—I just can't help myself…not when it comes to you…I knew all along what I was doing, but…it didn't matter, not when the alternative meant releasing you."

Tears began to pool in her eyes, whether of sadness or rage it was impossible to tell. "Why me?" she asked, two words delivered with the blunt force of a lance. "Why did you have to choose me?"

For several long, tense minutes I didn't know how to answer her. I searched myself for an explanation, seeking to make it clear to her and myself as well. When I spoke at last, it was at once like driving a knife into my chest and slowly drawing it out again. "You had a voice I could shape to make the world listen. With your voice, they would love my music, and finally love me too. And you were alone; you had no one to protect you and tell you not to listen to heavenly voices whispering in your ear."

The tears fell and I watched their slow descent, unable to tear my eyes away though I thought I'd go mad with it. I wanted to let her go, if only so I would never have to see those tears again, but I just…I just couldn't do it. I had made my choice long ago, and even now I wouldn't take it back. So much wickedness had already been done, but I would see it through to the bitter end.

She got to her feet unsteadily, nearly falling. I went to catch her, but she twisted out of my grasp with an agonized despair and a glance so filled with white-hot hatred that it caught me by surprise at first, but then I felt an upsurge of resentment. I had only been trying to help her after all I had done to hurt her. She continued to stand, wobbling precariously as she tried to maintain her balance, and I said, "Sit down, Christine."

Stubbornly, she held onto the bedpost to stay upright and took one shaky step forward.

"What do you think you're doing? Get back in bed, now!"

She ignored me and walked to the marble-topped dresser, staring hard at the bloodstains on the wall and floor. My eyes fell on the Persian dagger, lying where I had placed it atop the dresser well within her reach. I tensed, ready to spring if she should move to pick it up. "Christine, you're already injured enough." I warned her. "If I have to make you sit, I will."

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing," she recited in a faraway voice. "Her hair was as golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle…" Her voice shook and trembled, growing fainter and softer as she went on. "…but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music…"

My heart sank as I remembered the first deception, the first blow to the soul no longer clear and pure. The child was gone, and the woman never had a chance to exist.

_Oh, Christine…_

* * *

_Christine  
_

The dagger that had spilled my blood was within my grasp. All I had to do was take it, and he would rush to stop me, never dreaming I had no intention of turning it against myself. My heart began to pound in anticipation, eager and excited now that the moment had arrived at last.

My father's story rose in my mind and the words fell from me, recalling the joy and happiness that once was and cursing the origin of the nightmare that was my reality. Only a story, meant to comfort a child left alone…no, it was more than that. It had twisted itself around to bring about this darkness. It was just a story…just a child's fantasy. The Angel of Music was a lie, perpetrated first by the man who should have done more to protect me instead of filling my head with fables and then by the one who had poisoned what had been so dear and shut out every last ray of light.

_Damn you, Papa… _He had started it all, and Erik had picked up the pieces, but I would finish it for good. My resolve hardened anew and my anger and hatred at them both killed everything else in one sweeping rush.

Moving with deliberate care, I picked up the knife and drew it from the sheath.

* * *

_Erik_

The naked blade flashed in her hand and I leaped to my feet to restrain her. "Christine, no!"

She turned around faster than I had thought possible with a scream of tortured rage, a demented light in her eyes that went beyond fury and hate. For one split second I didn't even know how to react, in awe and fear of this creature before me, then she lunged forward with the dagger quick as lightning.

She struck fast, but I was faster. I seized hold of her wrist and the blade stopped just short of my chest. She had thrown all of her strength into the attack and I almost couldn't stop her, but I only just managed to stay her hand, my fingers clenched in a death grip on her arm.

Her resolve was such I could feel her straining against me, still trying to push forward though I wouldn't let her move. We were deadlocked there; even when she raised her other hand to the knife and struggled with all her might she couldn't break my grip, and there was nothing more I could do to hold her back without letting go of her hand.

A desperate sob burst from her even as she still tried to drive the dagger into my body. I looked down at her, the wounds of her body barely healed and the wounds of her soul so plainly written in her eyes, wounds that no amount of time would ever heal. Our hands shook together as we grappled with each other, straining at each other's waning strength and still going nowhere, knowing what it would mean to give up. Then she began to sag against me, her knees buckling so she was nearly leaning on me to stay standing, her grip on the knife and my grip on her wrist the only thing holding her up. She began to cry helplessly, her body quivering and her head bowed, her sobs like the cries of a grievously injured animal in death throes.

I couldn't restrain my own tears as I watched her, her entire being focused on one goal and clinging to it with the last of her hope, yet still turned aside at the last. I saw her pain as if frozen in time, burning into my heart and razing it to ashes that were swept away as in a wind. I saw her, and it destroyed me.

"I just wanted someone to love me," I told her, the words broken and jagged and pleading.

She shook her head and looked me in the eye, saying, "I don't care. You don't know what it is to love."

"I know," I replied. A shroud settled over me and I looked long and hard at her, the madness and the agony all caught up in her hand held in mine. I could never let her leave me…I would die first…the angel I had exalted had been stolen down to Hell where she would be mine beyond the reaches of time…_I'll see you again, my love…_

And I let go of her hand.

* * *

_Christine_

The blade slid home as if it had found its true sheath at last. It went in all the way to the hilt, and I immediately felt the rush of warm blood on my skin. I drew back in shock, my eyes still locked with his, and I watched him sink to his knees, choking on his last breath. I watched his eyes settle on the flames in the fireplace, drawing on the air from the room and burning hotter as life sped from him. They crackled and snapped, devouring the logs in the grate like voracious animals, and I wondered briefly what it must be like to feel that slow bite consume flesh and bone. I saw an ironic, mocking smile cross his face, and he collapsed without another word, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and the hellfire light in his open and staring eyes finally extinguished forever.

And still I was uneasy. I was avenged, but not free yet. I was still trapped inside the house, and now I had to share it with the corpse of my captor. I was mesmerized with horror and disgust as I looked at him, blood still oozing from the wound and the dagger still protruding from his chest.

The end had come so abruptly I still couldn't quite believe it had come at all. All I kept thinking was how, if I'd seen him die only moments before, could he already look as if he'd been rotting in a dark crypt for ages? The one fact contradicted the other, and yet I knew the truth my stupefied brain was struggling to register. The man who had kidnapped and abused me, who would have killed me before too long, was dead. By my hand. I could still feel the blood, cracking off in a crust as it dried and I flexed my fingers agitatedly. Dead. I had killed him. Me. Killed. Christine Daaé, orphan, diva, prisoner, murderess.

I gave myself a shake and reminded myself of my situation. I had to finally find a way out of the house if I was to survive after all. It would be a hollow victory to claim my vengeance only to fall victim to starvation without having regained my freedom. But I hesitated, still watching him stare up at me without even seeing me…or could he?

It would be just like him to let me think I had won only to thrust defeat in my face; he had done it once already. Even while my mind told me he couldn't possibly be alive after having a dagger plunged through his heart, I still questioned if he even had a heart to be wounded and thus be killed. It was the most black-and-white of questions, and yet it held unspeakable terror: Could he still be alive?

I cautiously crept closer, taking timid and frightened steps around the body and the fresh blood. I was wide-eyed and tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of life in him and petrified of the slightest misstep or movement. I didn't even trust myself to breathe, I was so convinced this was another trick and that if I let my guard down and accepted another deception, he would strike out like an angry viper and crush me.

With hands that shook and quivered, I reached out and put my fingers in front of his face, feeling no breath from his lungs and seeing no reaction to my approach. Just as uncertainly, I barely prodded his shoulder, and he didn't move. He didn't even blink. I pushed him again a bit more firmly, then again and again when he failed to stir until finally I was striking and beating his lifeless body, cursing his soul into the deepest corners of Hell and sobbing anew at what I had suffered at his hands. I wrenched the dagger out of his chest and stabbed him once, twice, thrice more, wanting to see more blood to be sure at last that he would never hurt me again and disappointed when there was none. There was no heartbeat to pump it from the wounds. He really and truly was dead.

At once it was like the world came crashing into my heart, forcing every last feeling of the blackest nature into my soul. What I felt went beyond the words used to describe the emotions: terror, anguish, pain, rage, despair, relief. I stabbed him one last time and threw the knife away, screaming out like a lunatic until I thought I would break apart into thousands of tarnished fragments. The sound echoed back to me like a choir of the damned, a haunted, tortured kind of music that drove me mad. Music! Music! I wanted no more of it! I wished I could destroy it for all time and never again remember it had lured me and deceived me!

I ran through the open door into the hall, racing like a woman possessed into the monster's bedroom. Grabbing the first stave of music I came to, I ripped it in half and half again, scattering the pieces into the air. Moving onto another handful of paper, all written in red with the Devil's own spells, I tore it all to shreds and threw the remains on the floor, trampling them under my feet. I didn't halt my tide of destruction, snatching his precious _Don Juan Triumphant _and tossing it onto the fire. I stood there in savage triumph as I watched his very soul burn to nothing before lifting the bench in a rush of insane strength and heaving it at the organ.

The noise of the wooden seat crashing onto the keys and into the pipes sounded like the gates of Hell bursting open with fury and brimstone. My eyes fell on the violin he had once played for me while I prayed at my father's grave, sending "The Resurrection of Lazarus" to draw me further under his control and further corrupting one of the few sweet memories left to me. I snatched it up and flung it across the room, seeking to break the remembrance as well as the instrument, and the ecstasy I felt when it smashed into splinters was sinful in its power. Erik was dead, and I had done my best to wipe away the last traces of his evil. But the wounds remained, memories that would sear and scar and torment me until time lost all meaning. No matter how I destroyed him or his music, he would linger in my soul for eternity, and I could never escape him.

I sank to the floor, my madness spent and suddenly exhausted. I needed to find a way out, but I had no idea where to even begin. My head spun with the hopelessness of it when I saw something lying in the wreckage of the violin. I crawled through the debris to retrieve it—it was a little brass key.

I turned it over and over in my hands, my heart now racing madly again. Could this be the way out? I had always known the secret hid somewhere just beyond my reach, but I had never imagined this cruelty. He had held my freedom within the source of his power in every way possible. It was like he could never do enough to hurt me, he always had to try harder. My love and longing for my dead father had entombed me, locking away hope and joy and twisting what had once been a symbol of life and happiness into the same wooden coffin the remains of my papa moldered in. It was the ultimate image of his power over me…but now his power was broken, and freedom was in my hands once more.

It was time to solve the riddle at last. Erik had bound and blindfolded me to lead me back to the Opera, so I had no concrete idea where the exit to the catacombs was, but I could recall every sound I'd heard, which could be enough to help me piece it together.

I thought back, mentally retracing my steps. He had approached me in my bedroom with the rope and the blindfold, and I remembered wondering what kind of perverted bondage game he wanted to play with me, but he only led me from the room and down the hall into his bedroom like a dog on a leash…What else had happened? I'd stood there disoriented with my hands tied and my eyes covered, and I had heard an odd clicking noise followed by a soft shuffling. What could that have been?

I looked down at the key in my hand, then flung myself at the walls, pressing and feeling for something like a door or a lock. I flew around the room as I had flown around mine not so long ago, faced with the prospect of further torture, and I slammed into the organ in my haste. The jolt brought a reprieve from my mania, and I paused to look closer at the instrument. It had been mostly lead pipes and ebony-and-ivory keys, but there was some brasswork here and there in the massive structure. The odds were against me, but it was a start.

I crossed to it and searched over every inch of it, trying to think in terms of Erik's stature and where the easiest places for modifications would be. I couldn't stop my trembling as I knelt at the back of the organ, staring at the wooden body, and raised my eyes to where I judged would be Erik's eye level. I scanned back and forth, back and forth, impatience and the frantic need to get out rising within me. I ran my hands along the wood, my fingers groping more and more desperately until I was digging my nails into the instrument and feeling splinters pierce my skin—

I was caught at a miniscule hole, edged in brass and the single most worn place on that part of the instrument. Hoping against hope, I fit the key into the hole and began to turn it.

There was that same mechanical clicking, like a clockwork toy being wound. It was certainly like winding a jack-in-the-box, my overwrought nerves stretched further with every ratchet and waiting for something to happen, the Phantom's equivalent to a spring-loaded doll. Finally, there was a nearly inaudible thumping sound and that soft shuffle, and I felt a sudden wave of cold air wash over me. I turned and saw a panel in the wall sliding open, revealing the darkness beyond, so solid and impenetrable it might have been another wall.

I stood, leaving the key in the hole and stepping warily to the doorway. I knew that damp, unhealthy smell that filled my lungs as I breathed in; the lake was just outside. The cellars were just outside. There was a new fear in my heart as I stared into that unending void, knowing I would have to enter it. The idea was nearly as terrible and horrifying as spending another moment in this place, or taking another breath in the presence of the cadaver waiting in my room. Why did it feel like walking from Hell into purgatory, as if one step into that darkness would swallow me forever and I would be trapped in limbo for the rest of my life? But I clung with all my strength to the one thing that could possibly help me face it: freedom. Freedom was outside. If I had to cross Dante's seven circles seven times over to reach salvation, then so be it.

I hurried back to my room, not sparing a glance for the corpse on the floor for fear of losing my nerve when my eyes met with death and decay and collecting a candle. Shielding the flame with my hand, I rushed back to the door and left the house without ever once looking back. Making my way slowly along the edge of the lake and into the passages, I heard the wall behind me slide into place again, the light from inside the house cut off and leaving me in near-perfect darkness.

I couldn't see anything beyond the tiny sphere of light from my candle. I walked cautiously, one hand extended forward and feeling through the darkness like a blind woman but meeting only empty air. I shivered in the cold feeling it bite into me with merciless fangs. I should have thought to bring some other clothing with me, something warmer, but I had been too distracted at finding the door to think about it, and if I _had _thought about it, I doubt I would have wanted to bring anything with me out of that place. The clothes on my back and the candle I carried were enough.

I looked at the hand holding the meager light. The bloodstains on my skin looked black, one final memento of my ordeal. As often as I looked away from it, I looked back at it, unable to push it from my mind. There was blood on my hands, both literally and figuratively. I had taken a life. I had killed a man.

No, that wasn't true. This was no man I was thinking of, this was a demon. I had slain one of Satan's children, proving to the Devil himself that his power was not infallible and that he could fall again and again to the sword of retribution. Vengeance would always be done upon him. But the memory assaulted me, plaguing my mind and filling me with toxicity and filth. Demon or not, I had killed. My hands were unclean.

The thought made my insides writhe and wriggle like serpents. Not only had I brought about the death of that stagehand I'd passed my note to, but I had been the one to wield the knife when Erik died. The sin there was mine, and no other's.

_Justice, _I argued, _it was justice. He deserved to die after what he did to me, he deserved far worse than what he got. I only wish I could have done more. I wish I could have made him scream in agony, if a thing like him could feel something as human as pain. I wish I had twisted the knife in his chest and watched him gasp and choke and wait for death, knowing it wouldn't come so easily. I wish I could have made him suffer and beg for me to end his torment, then deny him the mercy. He didn't deserve something like mercy. _I thought of the lies, the fear, the violence and the misery, and my sense of right strengthened. I had done no more than what should have been done, what was necessary to escape him at last. There was nothing else I could have done. If I had not done it, I wouldn't be here now.

But…where was "here," exactly? Was this freedom? I knew otherwise, the truth too harsh to ignore. I couldn't even have that simple happiness of knowing I had found my way out, merely passing from the inferno into smoke and ash, the obscure malice of a lonely oblivion.

I stumbled on the rocky path and nearly fell, scrambling to regain my balance and keep from dropping my candle. If I lost the light, I was doomed. As it was, it was halfway burned down. I only had a few more hours until I was sightless in the dark, only a few more hours to somehow find my way back to the upper world. If only it was so easy! The catacombs were vast, and I was lost. I could wander down here until I starved or froze to death. Even after making it this far, I could never make it out of here alive. I could still die down here, just like Erik.

_Why should I care about that? _ I asked myself. _He deserved it!_

But still…I had killed. I had dreamed of revenge at any cost, and I was slowly beginning to realize the price I would have to pay. Erik had killed. Erik was a monster. I had killed…and thus become just like him. The admission was disgusting and perverse in its reality, and I had to fight to choke down the poisonous bile and push aside the nausea it brought on. I had become the very thing I had hated, what I had sought to destroy. The fact that it was a monster I'd killed and that I had a conscience to remind me of the act itself and feel guilt didn't matter. None of it mattered, because it didn't change a thing. I had murdered someone. I'd stood in deliberate judgment and decided to play God.

_There _is _no God, _I thought bitterly. I hated how foolish I had been to think a supreme being would be anything but indifferent, letting such evil in this world He created go unchallenged and seeping through every corner to steal away the ignorance of innocence and false hope. _No, there is no God. I would never have been here if there was._

But, I reminded myself, Erik had said the exact same thing before he raped me…I could see his eyes glaring at me again, repugnant and violent, empty and yet full of evil. Hell's fire had been twisting within those eyes, scorching all they fell upon, and for a moment I was certain I would see them spring to life before me, burning a path to more destruction—

A rat scurried past my feet and I jumped in fright and surprise. It moved almost faster than I could follow it with my eyes, its scuffling and squeaking echoing away into the dark beyond my light. I considered going after it for a moment—after all, what creature could be counted on to find a means of escape and survival if not a rat? But it was already gone, and the thought slipped away as easily as it had come…

And I was left to realize how far I had sunk, reduced to relying on vermin to find my way. A bottom-feeding scavenger despised the world over. I had pinned my hopes on such a creature, so I was below even the rats. I was worse than scum. I would never belong anywhere now, not the broken and wasted animal I had become, not despoiled and defiled as I had been, and not as unbalanced and violent as I had proved to be. The world could no longer house and accept me. I was beyond marked; I was transfigured past all hope of recovery. Erik was not dead after all, not when I carried his darkness within my living heart.

I saw no point in denying the obvious. When worst had come to worst, I had learned truths about myself I would never have imagined in another lifetime. I was just as ruthless, just as conniving, and just as devious as the man I had hated more than I'd every loved anything. The reasons why didn't matter one whit because they could never vindicate me. I had killed someone; whether he was an innocent man or a guilty one, a saint or a demon, would never justify my actions. Death was death. Murder was murder.

I halted my footsteps and closed my eyes, feeling a tremendous weight settle onto my shoulders. I was just like him, using violence and force as a means to a chosen outcome. I recalled my nightmare of the dead woman in the bridal gown, and knew it held more truth than I could endure. We were a match, two monsters, soulless and empty. Would I see him when I looked in a mirror? When faced with my reflection, would I too despise the image in the glass? I was a murderer. What did motive matter? Was it truly justice, when I had been taught my entire childhood that revenge belonged to a Higher Power? If I sought and attained it for myself, didn't that make my justice simply another crime in a circle of iniquity?

_My entire childhood was a lie. I was also taught that that same Higher Power would forever guard me and keep me safe, and He didn't. He's just a pack of nonsense drummed up to keep anyone foolish enough to believe in Him in line._

My hands and feet were numb with cold. I couldn't even feel the candle in my grip anymore, sure I still carried it only because I saw it clenched in my fingers with my very own eyes. My teeth had begun to chatter, and I could see the cloud of mist that was my every exhalation. It was worse than the winters of my younger years in Sweden…or was there just such a chill in my soul it only felt that way? I couldn't be sure, but if I did not find a way out of here it wouldn't make a difference. I would still freeze before long. It would be a slow, agonized death, as I'd dreaded. I couldn't bear the thought of it, one more torture endured at the hands of his spirit.

But as I moved the candle back and forth, as if shifting a compass to find north, there was nothing but the endless myriad of tunnels and caverns before me, all leading through an infinite maze where one wall blended seamlessly with another and one passage was indiscernible from the next. The darkness and silence pushed me further into madness, my only fragile hold on sanity being the tiny glowing orb of light from my candle. I didn't even know if any of these desolate corridors was the one I wanted. Bitter tears filled my eyes and I didn't have the heart to wipe them away. I was going to die down here after all, unable to escape what had been done to me and the man who'd done it. I had destroyed him as he'd destroyed me, but the last laugh was his. It was no wonder he had released me and allowed me to finish him, no wonder he had smiled. He could have stopped me, but he knew better than I had that there was no escape for me. My fate had been sealed the moment he'd taken me from my dressing room…the instant I heard his voice…the first time Papa ever spoke of the Angel of Music…

_I hate you, Papa, _I wept, _but if I could only see you again…_I didn't even have a hope of that. I was destined for the same Hell as Erik, committed to the very fires I had wished upon him. Rage and terror filled me at the thought of seeing him again, his distorted face made even more hideous against the backdrop of the flame and brimstone where he made his home with brethren demons. Not even in death would I escape him. And justice would finally be done. The monsters, punished.

Yet I couldn't bring myself to care. I was just so tired, yearning for some kind of finality and resigned to my exile. I had no place in the world anymore, so I might as well never rejoin it.

I wandered wearily up a passage and sighed…and felt a snag on my leg. I bent down to investigate, holding the candle so I could see my feet, but there was only a long, thin, nearly-invisible wire. There was a slight, sleek metallic sound, and I felt a gentle gust that puttered the candle and extinguished it.

I sobbed aloud at being stranded in the darkness to wait for death, feeling a stabbing pain of anguish, a pain so intense it was like a knife had been driven into my heart…I choked, unable to get my breath, and the candle slipped from my fingers. There was a cold, piercing pain in my chest, not just a sense of despair. My hands shook as I forced them to move, the joints stiff in the chill, and I groped at myself blindly. There was just enough sensation in the appendages that I could feel it, a thin steel rod rammed through my body.

My strength began to evaporate and I recalled rumors of traps in the cellars, set in place by the devil who haunted them to keep intruders away. People had gone into the catacombs and never come out again, and now I would join their number. I had killed Erik, and he had killed me. The circle had closed at last.

A quick, merciful death as I had longed for…_so there is a Higher Power after all_…With my last breath, I formed the words, "Forgive me, Father, for turning from You in darkness, and lead me into Your light once again…"

And I surrendered the remains of my soul into His hands, feeling every burden slip away as I transcended the darkness into the peace beyond.

**Thank you for reading! It's been a pain in the behind, and I wouldn't do it again in a hurry, but it was worth it! :)**


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